


Driven Out and Taken In

by GreenT



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fem!Ori - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gandalf knows exactly what he is doing, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Ratings may change, Sad at First, a lot of fluff, fem!Bilbo, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 142,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenT/pseuds/GreenT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Erebor and the tragedy of Azanulbizar, many dwarves have come to hate the line of Durin. After losing his grandfather, father, and siblings, all Thorin has left is his nephews, who are no more than toddlers. When the meddling wizard Gandalf comes to the rescue, he takes Thorin and his boys onto the backs of Eagles to a place far to the west, in a dainty place called the Shire. He leaves the line of Durin in the caring hands of Bilba Baggins,  who has never had the heart to leave home since her mother's death.<br/>The strong, nurturing Hobbit and the pained, stubborn Dwarf are stuck with each other, raising two boys in the curious and not always kind eyes of the Shire.</p>
<p>tl;dr, Thorin and baby Durins go to Shire, fem!Bilbo is caring BAMF. Bring it on Lobelia. </p>
<p>From the Hobbit Meme</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm just putting this out there to gauge interest. Will probably continue though. Hopefully it's good. Unbeta-ed though. 
> 
> And I'll just apologize to the Dis fans now. 
> 
> Sorry.  
> Sort of.

Thorin clutched his nephews close and ran for his life. The fire of his burning home had died down and the thick smoke blended into the night sky over Ered Luin. The emergency pack on his back thudded against him with every step but he refused to stop. Balin could give the mob a wrong direction of where he went, but would they believe him? His only comfort was that his small nephews stayed quiet in his arms as he ran through the trees. The meeting spot with the gray wizard was just on the other side of the glen.

The boys still smelled of smoke and the scent of burnt flesh attacked his mind. The image of his sister, the strong and stubborn Lady Dis, bursting from their home with the children in her arms haunted him. The mob had barricaded the doors and windows and set the place aflame. He had been with Balin and Dwalin, collecting the last of the supplies the Durin line would need. They had known that a reckoning was coming, that the dwarves they had known since childhood, before Smaug ever attacked, were now hunting them. But they had thought they had time to spare. They were wrong.

Dis had noticed the smell of smoke too late as she tucked her sons into bed. She guessed what was happening and grabbed them. They fled down the stairs, only to find the flames erupting from every side of the house. Dis protected her children with her own body. She took her axe to the door again and again before throwing herself against it, and it broke into charred splinters. Dis tucked a boy under each arm and jumped through the fire, all the while her own body melting under the licks of the flames. They ran away from the violent crowd through the darkness, but her brother and cousins found them all too late. Dis succumbed to her burns in Dwalin’s arms as Thorin tried to distract his nephews. Dwalin had whispered a blessing in Khuzdul while Balin implored Thorin to run. There was nothing they could do for her except give her a proper burial, and Dwalin swore to see it done. Balin would head for the village and give the mob a false lead. Thorin took his nephews and ran for their lives.

He saw the edge of the forest as he approached. The gray wizard was a beacon with his staff aglow. There were two creatures standing next to him, enormous beings: eagles. 

“Thorin! Here!” he called to the dwarf. Thorin passed the last tree and slowed to a stop before the taller beings, panting hard. His nephews clung to him shakily, sniffling and coughing from smoke and sadness. “What happened? Where is Dis?” the wizard asked. Thorin looked up to him wordlessly, an angry and mournful expression he could not remove. The wizard’s eye brows rose slightly, then nodded grimly. 

“This is Gwaihir and Landroval. They will bear us from here.” The eagles each gave a small nod and stared at Thorin. It did not help his ego any to know he was smaller than birds as well as most other things. 

Thorin nodded back to them and they spread their enormous wings. He expected that Fíli and Kíli would have been amazed had they not just been dragged from their beds and orphaned. The wizard sat himself upon one of the eagle’s back, and Thorin mirrored him on the other. 

“Where are you taking us, Gandalf?” Thorin demanded.

“Somewhere safe, I assure you. I sent a raven yesterday to a trusted friend who can house you and your kin. Stay with her and no dwarf will ever find you.”

Thorin was skeptical but said nothing and hugged his nephews closer. The take-off was harrowing and nothing a dwarf would ever be ready for. They could handle the height of any mountain or cliff, as long as their feet touched the earth. Fíli and Kíli whimpered and held him tight in their tiny grasps. Thorin glowered at the thought of what had happened to him. The dwarves he trusted and had led for decades had turned against him and his line. They had tried to murder children! To think, with dwarven birth rates lower than they had been in centuries that they would ever consider…It was disgusting. What had he done to deserve such affronts? Could he control or stop a dragon? Could he feed the entirety of his people alone? Could he win every battle and save every life?

No. He could not.

And they had attacked his family because of it. 

He dared to look back at what had been his home for so many years. The smoke from his house dissipated in the clean night air. The lanterns of the village sparkled like stars in the darkness. 

What could he do now but follow the wizard’s plan? Who could he trust now that his own people had turned against him? 

Balin and Dwalin he knew for sure. Balin was his greatest advisor. He never gave Thorin a bad plan or idea, and always guided him true. Dwalin was his best friend, brother-in-arms, and his sister’s fiancé. Her first husband, the father of her children, had died in a mining accident. Thorin knew Dwalin had always loved Dis, but had been too slow to act. In the years following he was never far from the princess. He comforted her and treated the boys like his own, and in the end he finally asked to court her. She agreed without hesitation. Their wedding was to be in a month. 

Thorin wondered how Dwalin was taking it. He decided it was best not to think about. 

The boys dozed off after so long. Thorin began to question how far the Gandalf was taking them. And to who. Had he said her? A woman? What race? What kingdom? His people had traveled many lands, and been treated harshly in all but a handful. He doubted that any woman of Man or –Mahal forbid—Elf lineage would care for his line beyond a roof and three cold meals a day. Thorin would likely have to pay his own way by working in the forges or mines of wherever Gandalf left them. But he would do it gladly if his nephews were safe. 

Thorin did not trust himself to not fall off the eagle’s back if he slept. He forced himself to stay awake as the lands and rivers passed beneath them. The Hills of Evendium came and went, and the rain came after that. Thunder boomed and the boys jumped alert. He pulled his fur-lined coat over their heads on either side of him. His thick hair was soon soaked through. 

This safe haven better be close. 

“Are we there yet?” Fíli asked as we scrubbed the sand from his eyes. Thorin glanced towards the wizard. He could barely pick out the gray-clothed wanderer against the night sky. 

“How far?” Thorin called out.

“Not long now. We almost to the Shire.” Thorin nodded, pretending to know what in Middle Earth a ‘Shire’ was. 

The storm never let up even as they touched down at the edge of the village. The land rolled in waves and hills and homes seemed to be built into the very land. 

It was sort of like a tiny, quaint Erebor, now that Thorin thought about it. It seemed equally as abandoned. No one was about anywhere; the only signs of life were a few tiny flickers of lit candles in windows. 

Thorin stared at the village a little longer before thunder boomed again and reminded him of his purpose. 

“This way,” Gandalf said and continued down a muddy path after thanking the eagles. 

Thorin scanned the area again and decided he did not like it. This place was not at all like Erebor. These people, whoever or whatever they might be, did not live in the rock as dwarves did. They lived in the dirt. The village was entirely comprised of little holes in the dirt. They were likely very dirty and full of worms and oozy smells. And to think he’d have to work just to earn his keep in a place like this. 

But his nephews were safe, and that was all that mattered. 

 

\-----------------------------

 

Bilba Baggins was a very unusual woman, though not at all unlikeable. She was known throughout the Shire as a very paradoxical person. They said it was because of her lineage; a child of the Took and Baggins clan! Two of the most opposite families blood lines in one person—well one could only reason that was why she was odd.

She was known to have an extraordinarily kind heart, especially for children, and a deeply cutting tongue, especially for the Sackville-Bagginses. She loved to tell amazingly scary stories of adventure and danger, but to the surprise of many, had never gone farther from home than Bree. She had her father’s mind and her mother’s heart. In shorter words, she was not completely and utterly respectable, but she was highly-respected. 

So when she got a raven from the wizard Gandalf one morning saying he was calling in a large favor, she did not hesitate to undertake it. Four dwarves needing a place to stay? Her pantry and hearth could easily handle a dozen. So Bilba Baggins spent the day preparing the smial for her guests. Gandalf had not mentioned how long they would be staying, and she decided that could only mean he did not know himself. Luckily her home had plenty of extra rooms and was never short on food. She had an inheritance that could support them for decades—if not longer. 

The only thing that unnerved her about it was the urgent tone of Gandalf’s message. The wizard was not one to worry lightly; sure he could speak in riddles, and he tended to do so, but she knew from experience when the wizard sensed danger. 

Bilba tried to ignore the gloomy thoughts of what might have occurred to warrant four dwarves leaving their home for the Shire. She busied herself with cleaning and organizing rooms. She baked treats and breads and other dishes she thought they might like. Nothing famished someone like travel. 

Unfortunately the storm over the Shire returned her to the dark wonderings of her mind more than once. How dreadful it must be to be out in that. Her guests would want warmth, so she stoked the fire high as night set in, and left a large pot of water over it. They might also crave a soak. 

Bilba ran through what she knew about dwarves. There were a few books in her study on them, but they were small with few facts. It appeared the only thing the author’s knew about dwarves was how they liked to keep their culture private and only stay with other dwarves—for fear that someone would steal something from them, from a jewel to a part of their secret language ‘Khuzdul’ that very few outside of their race ever learned. 

Perhaps having dwarves as guests would be slightly more difficult than she had immediately envisioned. 

But nonetheless she would give them what she could and help them adjust to life in the Shire. No doubt the other hobbits would be quite perturbed by the new residents. The Tooks might welcome them, as they did the idea of adventure and excitement, but the Bagginses would be very wary. Hobbits could be just as private and protective as dwarves sometimes. But Bilba would help them any way she could, and teach them the ways of the halflings. She would show the Bagginses that her guests were not to be feared (as long as they weren’t actually, Gandalf hadn’t really spoken of their character). 

She had heard of fierce dwarven warriors and the battles they had fought against orcs. They were known to wield swords and axes and hammers and there were some records of dwarves head-butting their enemies or even punching them in the face in combat. 

What her Great-Grand-Uncle Bullroarer Took would have given to meet one. 

Or her mother, for that matter. 

But Bilba had decided long ago that it was best to not dwell on the past, at least not the sad parts, and went back to work.


	2. Small Shocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for my own happiness I'm making hobbits live just as long as dwarves.  
> Yeah.

Bilba stared at the fire as she waited. There was nothing more for her to do. She had enough food ready to cover dinner and breakfast (though it was far past dinner time and almost closer to breakfast). The fire was well-stoked, the pot above it boiling, and her smial was a picture of coziness. She had heard that dwarves quite liked fine things, but she knew that these dwarves could be quite down on their luck and did not wish to make them feel any worse by dressing up like a lass at a wedding. She chose a white blouse beneath a yellow-gold west with a green shirt that puffed out with ruffles beneath the fabric. A nice, hobbit-y outfit. 

Clothes! How much clothing would they have brought with them?! Probably little if they were in urgency, and certainly nothing hobbit-y. Bilba jumped off the couch with glee knowing she had something to do. She hated stillness. She hated not moving. It ate at her. But here was something she could do well!

But then she realized she had no idea how big the dwarves would be, or their gender, or what they would like, and she slumped back down into the couch. 

But she jumped again when she heard the knock at the door. Soft, but strong. Just two hits. Gandalf. She raced to the door and tore it open. 

The large gray wizard was leaning down and faced her with a sad smile as water dripped from the brim of his hat.

“Gandalf! Come in! Come in!” Bilba welcomed. She moved to the side as the wizard stepped into her foyer, followed by a large (not tall-just large) dark figure. She stepped back a pace as she took him in. 

First of all, he (was it a he? Probably a he. Bilba had heard that dwarf women were rare—or possibly non-existent) was sopping wet. He had a long leather coat with thick fur-trimming that was dripping everywhere. His face was hidden by the shadow of a deep blue hood, but she caught sight of a short, dark beard (also—weren’t beards important to dwarves? She was sure she heard Gandalf mention that once) and thick black hair and two small braids poured out the front of the hood at his neck. He had a heavy-looking pack on his pack, a scary-looking sword on one hip, and a large oak branch hooked to the other. 

Bilba stared at that for a moment. A branch. On his hip. Didn’t dwarves only work with metal? Not wood? 

Unusual either way. 

Bilba also noticed the armor he was wearing under the rest of his blue garments, and little clothed bundles he carried under each arm. 

She blinked at him once. He seemed quite scary. Maybe a bit regal. Mostly scary. 

“Would you like to sit by the fire?” she asked, gesturing to the sitting room. He turned and walked towards the fire without saying a word and began to unpack.  
Were all dwarves so cold? But Bilba refused to take offence from someone who seemed to have been through so much. He would need time, which she could easily give. 

The sword however, worried her a bit.

“Um, Gandalf?” she said, peering up at the tall wizard who had to tilt forward to not hit his head on the curved ceiling.

“Yes?”

“Is he…safe?” she whispered. She did not mean to offend him either. Gandalf’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he peered back at the dwarf who was currently peeling off his giant coat. 

“Thorin is a skilled warrior. He can be quite dangerous when he wants to be,” Gandalf said quietly, not at all comforting Bilba, “But he means you no harm, especially if you are caring for his nephews. He will not lay a hand on you, or anyone that does not cause him or his kin harm, I assure you.” Bilba’s shoulder’s relaxed at that. She could understand how being a dangerous person didn’t mean that you were…well, dangerous. 

“Oh yes! Where are they? I thought you said there would be four. Are they coming later?” 

Gandalf sighed heavily. In a small moment he suddenly looked much older, and much more tired. 

“I am afraid there will only be three staying with you now.” He glanced at her sadly. Her eyes widened a little, and then shut tightly. She cursed under her breath. As if this family hadn’t been through enough. 

“So where are his nephews?” she asked. 

And if to answer just that, she heard a small yawn from the sitting room. She spun on her heel and gasped. 

There, standing in between the fire and their uncle, were two small dwarf children. The eldest (she guessed) had blond hair that was flattened and soaked. It stuck to his face and his big blue eyes peered around the room. His tattered clothing was drenched and burnt (which confused Bilba quite a bit). He was currently trying to wake up the other child, who was a few inches shorter. Goodness, he looked like he had just grown out of being a toddler! The smaller one had dark brown hair that clung to him as well, and dark, tired eyes that he was scratching the sand out of. The large dwarf was on one knee next to them, his hood pulled down to reveal a thick black mane. 

Bilba stared bug-eyed at the children before turning back to Gandalf. 

“Ch-children? They ch-chased out children?!” Bilba asked. How could anyone do such a thing! They were so young! “The fourth one…how?”

“She was their mother.” Bilba felt her heart clench. 

“But they couldn’t have…They’re innocent! Surely they weren’t actually going to…” Bilba couldn’t finish. She didn’t want to think of something so horrid. 

“They barred the doors and windows and set the house on fire,” Gandalf replied bluntly. "She protected them at her own sacrifice." Bilba stared at him in shocked horror. 

“By the Valar…” 

“These dwarves have been through terrible ordeals, Bilba. I need you to watch over them and keep them safe.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” she said without hesitation. Gandalf nodded. 

“Then I must go. There are other things in the world I must see to.”

“Wizard business?” Bilba guessed with a weak smile. She tried to find humor in the darkness. 

“Quite. Good night Bilba.”

“Do you wish me a good night, or mean that it is a good night whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this night; or that it is a night to be good on? Because I really think only two of those fit right now.”

Gandalf gave her a small smile and knew the dwarves were safe as he shut the door behind him.


	3. All the Comforts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it gets sad.  
> And then it gets better.  
> And I really want to live in Bilbo's house.

Bilba stood looking at the door for a few heartbeats before turning back towards the dwarves in her sitting room. The thundercloud of a dwarf was kneeling with his nephews in front of the fire, all of them drenched, tired, and likely hungry. 

If there was one thing all hobbits knew and agreed on, it was that food made everything better. 

She silently dashed for the kitchen and grabbed the biggest tray. She piled on everything she thought the dwarves might like, running through the Hobbit Flow-Chart of Polite Hosting in her head. Unfortunately, the hobbits who wrote it were a very polite bunch of proper hobbits, and thus never thought any polite hobbit would encounter dwarves, much less have three staying with them, and Bilba realized the Flow-Chart lacked the information she really wanted. She had always believed in erring on the safe side, so she grabbed a little of everything, which included sausages, bacon, pork pies, chicken, fried fish, a cheese block (with a cheese knife, of course), corn, hot soup, buttered bread, mushrooms, fried potatoes, apples, scones, cookies, seed and honey cakes, and blackberry and raspberry tarts, and it ended up being a lot more than a little. Bilba was careful to not add anything burnt, considering what the boys had just endured. 

She heaved the loaded tray to the sitting room and the dwarves spun when they saw her. The uncle—Thorin—stood tall and his nephews rushed behind him. They clung tightly to his pants as they peered out to look at her with widened, frightened eyes. Thorin had a hand on each of their shoulders, keeping them close. Bilba slowly stepped forward, and gently placed the food on the coffee table. The boys’ eyes nearly popped from their skulls at the sight. Bilba tried to tell herself that such a reaction was normal for little kids when faced with large portions of desserts, but she knew from the way their tunics hung loosely even when soaked that these boys knew what hunger really meant. And it broke her heart all the more. 

Unlike the children, Thorin’s eyes never left her. He was obviously suspicious and distrusting. Bilba couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him. 

“Help yourself,” she offered gently, giving them a comforting smile. The boys stared at the food and then at their uncle, who gave them a small nod. Bilba had never seen kids move so fast. They stuffed their mouths like they had never seen food before. Big eyes, mussed hair, and quick hands; the scene made her suck in air. She looked up to Thorin, who stood still as a stone. 

“I boiled some water if you want to have a bath,” she said. He glanced at the pot and back at her, eyes rather blank. “I’ll just ah…fill the tub.” She darted passed the young ones to the hearth and lifted the pot off the hanging bar. It was as heavy as the food tray. Bilba was torn between moving quickly to fill the tub and letting them have a bath, and pacing herself so it did not seem like she didn’t want to be around them. 

It reminded her why her mother had found politeness so difficult. 

Quickly but not too quickly she left the room and passed down the hallway to the bathroom. After pouring the water in, she grabbed all of the water softeners she could and nearly emptied them all into the water. Bilba grabbed a number of different soaps (though not too many, because she didn’t want to make the dwarves think she found them dirty, even if they were) and laid out a few towels. When she returned to the dwarves, the food tray was empty. There weren’t even crumbs on the plates, like it had been licked clean.

She did notice the small sliver of chicken grease on Thorin’s lip, as well as a few tiny crumbs on his tunic.

Without saying a word, she dashed back to the kitchen and brought back even more food than the first time. 

“The bath is ready whenever you like,” she said quietly. Thorin nodded, and Bilba realized she hadn’t heard him speak a word. “I’m Bilba. Bilba Baggins. Gandalf said your name was Thorin?” He nodded again. Forcing herself to not voice her frustration she asked, “What are their names?” Thorin’s eyes searched hers for a moment, black-dotted lakes that seemed ice-cold. 

“The eldest is Fíli, the brown-haired one is Kíli,” he answered, and Bilba was almost shocked by the deepness of his voice. No hobbit had a pitch like that! Even Gandalf on a bad day had a higher voice. 

“Ah.” She wasn’t sure what to say. What could she say to someone who had just lost their home and family? “I’ve got rooms ready for you,” she spouted. It seemed reasonably safe. 

Thorin peered down at his nephews and took a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly. He couldn’t have been more than two decades older than her, but the world seemed to have aged him much more, like Gandalf had been in the foyer. 

“I’m happy to help. Anything you need, just ask.” 

He looked back to her then, appearing almost confused, like he couldn’t understand her. 

“Mistress Baggins…where did you say the bath was?” he asked. Bilba blinked. She hadn’t been called that since….well she’d never been called that. Sort of the effect of being respected but not entirely respectable. And most hobbits never bothered using formalities. Everyone in the Shire knew everyone else, and was either related to or friends (or something that shouldn’t be spoken in the presence of children) with everyone else. No one was called ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress’ save for the very old, utterly respectable hobbits. 

“Bilba, please. And it’s just down the hall, third door on the right.” Thorin nodded and gently laid a hand on each of his nephews. 

“Come.” The boys looked like they might cry, but he herded them towards the hall. When Bilba saw the door close and heard the click, she ran to put more food out. She put the kettle on as well; she really needed something to calm her nerves. 

Bilba sat down in her father’s chair in the one of the other (one of three) sitting rooms. She always did her clearest thinking there. It rooted her down and caged her racing thoughts. The only sound in the room was her deep breaths. 

Male dwarves. Three male dwarves. Two boys, almost toddlers. A warrior who didn’t trust her or her kindness. 

No doubt, her father would have had a conniption fit, and her mother would be squeaking over the boys’ cuteness and would want to squeeze them until they choked. 

Bilba told herself to calm down, to think logically. What did she need?

They hadn’t packed much. If they didn’t know how long they were staying they would need clothes. He father’s old things might fit Thorin, but some of it would certainly be too small. She probably had a few things from her young years that could fit Fíli and Kíli, but not enough for growing boys. 

So she’d go to the market tomorrow or the day after and pick up a few things. Wouldn’t that surprise a few shop-keepers. 

What else? She made a list in her head.

1\. More food (of course).  
2\. Hair combs. Hobbit hair was curly but thin. Her brushes might break in the mane atop the dwarves’ heads, if they kept it, which she expected they would.  
3\. Stronger dishware. Just in case. Thorin looked like he could break rocks with his bare hands, which she also suspected he could, and there was nothing more dangerous for eating-wares than small children (expect perhaps Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who stole Bilba’s silverware whenever she could).  
4\. Toys. What would boys like? She had some wooden weapons from her adventurous years, and some dolls and other things. Would dwarven kids like them?  
5\. Miscellaneous dwarf things. Could make them feel more at home. Or did they want to forget the past? (Damn the complexity of politeness!)  
6\. Locks. Door locks. Window locks. Everything-lockable locks. Whoever was after them seemed quite serious, and Bilba would take no risks. Bilba had never been so glad smials were rather fire-proof. 

That seemed like enough for one trip. She could get more things later. If she was honest she really didn’t want to go to the market and leave them alone just after arriving. She would show them around her home tomorrow and teach them about life in the Shire and she could shop the day after that. She needed to welcome them as best she could.

Clothes! Right!

Bilba dashed to her father’s closet and grabbed the biggest tunic, pants, underclothes, and socks she could find. A laugh nearly escaped her when she found that the tunic was the same rich blue the dwarf had worn earlier. Then she moved to her old room, the one she had actually cleaned that day for a guest to sleep in. It was a nursery, and she decided it would be perfect for the younger lad. The walls were sky blue with little birds flying about, fields of green at the bottom and mountains in one corner. The bed would be large, as she had slept in it until her developmental years, but she doubted he would care. The bed was the softest in the house, and that was just perfect. Bilba opened the closet and dug out two sets of sleeping clothes that looked to be about the boys’ sizes. She hadn’t worn many skirts as a child; she found them overly-ruffled and puffy. Trousers let her run faster and slip between close trees and play freely. She hadn’t kept many, but there were enough that the boys wouldn’t need to run naked for a few days.

Not that they wouldn’t anyway. She knew what trouble tiny ones could raise when they wanted to.

Bilba piled up the clothes and moved to the hall. The sounds of splashing and—was that a laugh?—got louder as she approached the bathroom. Knocking on the door lightly she called for Thorin.

There was a pause, a splash of water and a few sounds of movement before he opened the door a little. More than a crack, but she couldn’t see anything past him. 

And, oh goodness, him. He was no dryer than when she had first seen him, but now all he had on was a towel wrapped from the waist down. 

She didn’t think muscles like that existed outside of heroic tales. Bilba tried to not stare at the thick mass of hair coating much of his cut chest, and forced herself to look him in the eye.

This is why she brought clothes this is why she brought clothes this is why she brought clothes…

“I brought you some clothes,” she said quickly, and possibly a smidge too loudly. “I hope they fit. I can buy more in a few days.” She almost shoved the fabric into his hands and she took off towards the sitting room with her father’s chair.

She really needed to clear her head.

\-------------------------------------------

Thorin did not know what to make of this place. Or this woman. 

The home was not dirty or oozy or unsanitary in the slightest. The only smells that pervaded through it were that of good food (oh, the food), fresh earth (not dirty-earth, nice earth, like grass or flowers or something natural), and an air of comfort and warmth he hadn’t sensed in over a century. But what he liked most was the size. It was nowhere near as grand as Erebor or even the homes of the Iron Hills, but it was his size. For decades he had moved from city to village of Man and in every single place everything was too damn big. The anvils and the pickaxes and the tables and everything was twice its proper size! But this place, these things, as undwarvish as it all was, it did not make him feel small. And that was a gift.

And yet a part of him did not trust it. There was no security to this place, no strong locks or dangerous weapons or armored anything. What shocked him the most was the lack of metal. He had lived in shacks that had more iron than this. The place was almost entirely wooden; the walls, the furniture, the frames, the trays, the-the everything! He was sure the only metal thing he had seen was a cheese-knife. Well at least her silverware was actually silver. 

And her. Now wasn’t she a surprise. Not a human, or an elf, but a hobbit? That was the last race he had expected. No wonder he hadn’t recognized the name. Few people came here, to the Shire, land of the halflings, and little was known of them. He only knew of them from his days learning about the world in Erebor. A prince had to know all peoples and creatures he may encounter, but hobbits were barely mentioned. A race of small people off to the west. That was about it. But wasn’t he in for a culture shock. Like her hair! So short and curly! No hair or even fuzz on her face! But her large hairy feet made it seem like her beard had just fallen somewhere else. It was a tad unnerving. 

He didn’t like her ears either. Pointed. Like the elves’. Thorin wasn’t sure if hobbits were at all related to elves, but he was suspicious nonetheless. Gandalf may have trusted her, but he would form his own opinions, thank you very much. 

But she brought them food. So much food. He hadn’t seen that much food in one place since last Durin’s Day. Fíli and Kíli had nearly wet themselves. Thorin didn’t want to eat in front of her though. He didn’t want her to see how hungry he was, how he tore through the chicken and bread like a starving wretch. 

And then she made them a bath! Like a mother for her own kids. She was so charitable, he couldn’t believe it. He had been a road for a century and the most anyone had given them for free was a barn to sleep in. This couldn’t be real.

Would it come at a cost? Thorin would have expected so at first, but then she returned and brought them more food, and said they could ask for anything, and Thorin thought he must be hallucinating. 

He needed to think. 

So he dragged the boys to the bath.

They had been amazingly obedient and submissive since they had left Ered Luin. Thorin had worried about their hearts and minds over their mother’s death. He didn’t know how much they saw. 

But then Fíli and Kíli were splashing and laughing and smiling and Thorin was sure he was hallucinating. 

He couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t imagine how someone could be hit with death and laugh a few hours later. Maybe it was childhood resilience. Maybe they hadn’t seen or realized what had happened to Dis. 

Maybe some people just had happy souls. 

And then Bilba returned with clothing. Clean, well-kept, and remarkably soft clothes. It did make him wonder if there was anyone else living with her. Did she have a son? A husband? Was she widowed? Did she take in people often? He realized he knew quite little about the caring lass that had taken them in. He thought that, perhaps, some people were just born kind.

But when he dried off the boys and saw their burns, treating them with medicines he found in a cabinet, he thought otherwise. 

Because the people who gave them those scars had once been happy, had once been giving and kind, had once been friends. 

And they had tried to kill him and his line because they thought it was tainted. That crowd, that mob of dwarves who he had led in times of plenty and scarcity, believed that everyone in his family was fated for either madness of greed or grief or Mahal-knows what else, or they were destined to fail. And that Durin’s heirs would bring nothing but strife to the dwarves of Erebor. 

And what worried him more than anything was that they might be right. 

But what could he do now? Whether or not she demanded it he could get a job in a forge, bring some gold to the table. Installing locks was a good idea. Maybe even storing a few weapons around the place if she allowed it. 

Did she know how to fight?

Unlikely, Thorin decided. 

Eventually the boys were clean and their hair was dry enough to not drip and he led them out. The water had relaxed them all and his muscles felt less tense than they had been in decades. He lifted the boys onto a shoulder each and went to find their host. 

That was more difficult than he realized. Evidently, hobbits like to live in mazes. 

Perhaps that was the hobbits’ defense system: utter confusion.

If it was, it was working, because Thorin had been walking around for at least five minutes, had yet to find the one thing he was looking for, but was sure he had passed that big green door at least three times. 

Feeling Kíli slump against his head and hearing Fíli yawn quite tiredly, Thorin gave up.

“Mistress Baggins?” he called, because he wasn’t comfortable with not paying respect to his host just yet.

“Oh? Coming!” she called back. 

She was standing in front of him in less than five seconds.

He hadn’t even heard a noise between her shout and her appearance. 

Yes. The hobbits’ defense was definitely confusion. 

“I think my nephews are ready to rest. Is there somewhere for us to sleep?” he asked tentatively. He knew from experience the last thing he wanted to do was presume anything, much less kindness. 

“Oh of course! I have rooms made up for you.” She reached up to take Kíli, and on instinct Thorin flew back. He hadn’t meant to be cold to her. He hadn’t meant to be so distrusting but his suspicious nature had saved them a number of times. It’s what got them out of Ered Luin. 

But Bilba was quite surprised, and he saw pain in her eyes. Thorin wasn’t sure who it was for. But she pulled back and gave him space.

“Right this way,” she said quietly, eyes downcast. Bilba walked though her home and he felt guilty for his reaction. This hobbit had given his nephews more food in one hour than he could give them in a day and he had been scared to let her hold them. 

And suddenly he was in a part of her home he was sure he hadn’t seen, and she was opening a door. 

“I thought Kíli might like this room. It’s a nursery but the bed is large.” 

She stepped in and beckoned him to follow. 

And he thought this place couldn’t be more homely. 

Thorin didn’t remember the last time he had seen a nursery, and wasn’t it a sight. The walls were painted like what he guessed the Shire looked on a sunny day. The room smelled of flowers and warmth. Bilba moved to the bed and pulled back the covers. He followed and gently laid Kíli down. His arm brushed the mattress and he almost gasped. Nothing could be that soft. This was unreal. Kíli didn’t even wake as he was tucked in, but Fíli started moaning and pulling at Thorin’s hair, reaching for his little brother.

“Can they both sleep in here?” Thorin asked. After what they had been through, he wouldn’t be surprised if the boys didn’t leave each other’s sides for a week. Or a decade. 

“Well the bed is certainly big enough. It’s fine by me,” Bilba spoke quietly. Thorin shifted Fíli from his shoulder to the bed, where he held his brother’s hand. Bilba pulled the blankets back up to their chins and stepped back. She hadn’t noticed the boys’ matching hair clasps until then. She wondered who made them or where they were from. 

Thorin lingered by the bedside and breathed deeply. 

His nephews were safe. They were clean, they were sleeping, they were well-fed. 

It felt like a mountain had been lifted off his shoulders. 

“You are safe here,” he heard her whisper. He guessed she was talking about all three of them. 

He turned back to her and saw the sad but comforting smile on her face. And then he realized he hadn’t really taken in her face yet.

Her curly hair was cut short like a human boy’s might be, but it was a yellow gold that shined even in the darkened nursery. She had sparkling emerald eyes and small lips and a softness that paralleled with her home. 

He nodded to her words and stood back from his nephews. She went back to the hall and he followed her steps, being as quiet as a dwarf could be, and closed the door behind him. He left it cracked though; Kíli was still afraid of the dark. 

“Your room is next door and mine is at the end of the hall,” she said. She opened the door to the next room over. “I’m afraid the bed will be a bit big. It was made for Men. My parents bought it for when Gandalf visited.” Thorin stared at the large mass of pillow and blankets in front of him. He had slept in Man beds before—in cheap inns and mine barracks. But they had never looked so welcoming. “The other beds are just too small for you.” Now wasn’t that hilarious. For the past few decades the only bed-related problems he faced were that they were much too big (and made of uncomfortable material) or they were his size (and made of even less comfortable material, or he just didn’t have a bed and had to sleep on a blanket.

“It’s perfectly fine, Mistress Baggins,” he answered, and then with serious sincerity, “Thank you.”

“There is no need for formalities. Please call me Bilba. And it’s the least I could do.”

That’s where Thorin disagreed with her. He had seen and experienced what the ‘least’ a person can do was, and this was a gift from the Valar in comparison. 

But he just nodded to her words. She moved to leave, but just before she closed the door behind her Bilba said, “Good night.”

And he agreed with her.


	4. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one starts happy and ends sad.   
> Also: I realized as I went over the storyline in my head that the plot is entirely based on pain and comfort.   
> THAT'S IT. THAT'S THE WHOLE PLOT.  
> JUST TAKE YOUR FEELS AND RUN.

Like most hobbits, the first thing on Bilba’s mind the next morning when she awoke was food. She got up early, dressed herself in a white blouse and plain brown skirt with suspenders, and crept down the hall without making a sound. She peaked in each of her guests’ doors to check they were still there, which they were, and headed for the kitchen. She hadn’t made first breakfast for a group since Amaranth Brandybuck’s bachelorette party. Now that was a tale to tell. 

Bilba did her best to silently cook. Eggs in all forms, bacon, sausage, more scones and tarts, muffins, pastries, mixed fruits, tea, coffee, milk, and toast with butter and jelly began to fill the table, many covered in cloths to keep the warmth in. She knew her guests would enjoy a sleep in, so she helped herself to a few muffins before heading to the sitting room. Bilba grabbed Thorin’s large coat, which was dry from sitting in front of the fire but still needed a wash. How Thorin walked in it she would never know; it weighed more than a dog! She went back to the bathroom and collected the other displaced clothes. Thorin’s were in good condition, though she had never seen armor outside of a museum so she couldn’t really judge it. Unlike their uncle’s garments, Fíli and Kíli’s were dirty, tattered, and even had holes burnt through them. 

Bilba tossed them right out. Except for their boots. Hobbits had an innate distaste for footwear, but she had always found children’s clothes rather adorable. The shoes were made of thick brown leather and looked quite warm. The boys would need them. When was the next time she would find someone selling shoes like this? Maybe she could buy some leather in the market later and sew it into little booties for them. Oh! She could add a fur trim and embroider little flower designs and could you knit leather strips? Because that would make a lovely scarf and—

Bilba shook her head. She really needed to get out more. 

She cleaned the fabrics in the tub and set them on a rack to dry. She wondered what Thorin’s sword needed for care. Polish? Sharpening stones? 

And why was he carrying that branch around? 

Both the sword and branch were sitting in front of the fire place where she had found his coat. Bilba needed to ask what he wanted to do with them. He could keep them certainly, just maybe out of the eyes of the Bagginses. 

But with no more work to do at present, she wandered back to the kitchen to wait. 

It wasn’t long before she heard a door down the wall creak open and then shut with a boom like a thunder clap! She jumped in her seat and out of it. What was he doing?! She ran to the hall and found him trying to creep quietly towards her, looking like a guilty child.

“The door was…lighter than I expected.”

Bilba almost giggled. 

“Oh it’s fine. But I think you woke the boys.” The two adults turned to find the nursery door cracked open, a dazed Kíli pulling hair out of his face and an alert Fíli looking ready to bolt.

“Wha’ happened uncle?” Fíli asked fearfully, clutching his brother’s hand. The two were adorable messes. Their hair was sticking up and out, their clothes were wrinkled, and the Kíli was making baby-ish yawns every few seconds.

“Nothing, Fíli. I just accidentally pushed the door too hard,” Thorin said reassuringly. Fíli’s eyes searched his for a moment before nodding. Then he stared at Bilba. 

Feeling a little on the spot Bilba asked, “Would you all like breakfast?” 

That woke Kíli up.

His head snapped towards her voice and he watched Bilba with enormous puppy eyes. 

“Who ah you?” he asked. Bilba’s eye brows rose slightly in surprise, but she wasn’t that shocked he didn’t remember her too much. The boys had an eventful night to say the least.

“Bilba. Bilba Baggins,” she said gently. She had understood Thorin’s reluctance to let her near his nephews. In his position she would have done the same. But she hoped she’d be able to earn his trust soon. 

“Biilll-baaaaa. Baaaagg-iiiiiins,” Kíli rolled the words on his tongue. “Beeeeeel-BAH Baaaagg-eeeeeens.”

Bilba chuckled at his voicing, which seemed to only encourage him more as his brother watched him thoughtfully and Thorin’s face went red at the embarrassing scene.

“Beel-buh Boggeens,” Kíli continued. Bilba just smiled and rolled her eyes. 

“This way boys.” She led them to the kitchen and began to uncover the food, going down the table until she reached the opposite edge. When she looked back, they were all standing in the doorway, jaws dropped and staring like Yavanna was sitting at the table. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked as her brow furrowed with concern. They hadn’t minded her food last night. 

“This is…fer us?” Fíli said tentatively, blue eyes sparkling in disbelief. 

“Of course! I wanted you all to get a sleep in so I went ahead and made first breakfast.”

The dwarves stared in shock at the smorgasbord laid out in front of them. 

“Did…Did you say first breakfast?” Thorin wondered out loud. 

“Yes,” Bilba said confidently, and then it hit her who she was talking to. “Oh right! You’re dwarves! Sorry. I forget we hobbits do have unusual eating habits compared to the other races. We have first breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, tea time, dinner, and supper. Well, some say supper and dinner, and there are others who call it first and second dinner or first and second supper but it’s really all the same. And of course we snack through a lot of the day. What do dwarves do?”

In Ered Luin, Thorin felt good if his nephews got three meals in one day. 

And while that was the case for most of the dwarves living in the Blue Mountains, he’d still never enjoy admitting the fact that he fainted in the hobbit’s hall the first morning he was there because he saw a large breakfast. 

Hard to say who was more shocked when he hit the floors; Bilba or the boys. 

The three of them tried to move him to the couch, but they might as well have been trying to move a troll. So the settled for putting a pillow under his head and waiting. After Bilba assured them Thorin was breathing the two children looked up at her with pleading eyes. 

“May we pwease go ea’ breakfas’ Ms. Boggeens?” Kíli asked.

Her heart nearly exploded at his sheer cuteness.

“Of course, Kíli. Help yourselves to whatever you like.” With that, the boys ran to the table without hesitation and grabbed the food with astounding speed, like their uncle wasn’t laying a few feet away unconscious. 

Bilba sighed. Childhood priorities.

She hoped Thorin woke soon. As much as she wanted to bond with the tykes, she also wanted Thorin to see her with them, not wonder and suspect what she might have done while he was incapacitated. And then she had a brilliant idea. 

She grabbed a slice of bacon and waved it over his nose. His nostrils flared a few times before his eyes fluttered open. She smiled over him and held out a hand to help him up. 

\--------------------------------------

Thorin did not faint. 

He was simply overwhelmed by the magnitude of Ms. Baggins generosity, and was very tired, and the floor looked quite comfortable, actually. 

But no one would ever believe him when he told them that. 

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. The floor was wood, not stone, so it hardly damaged his head. He was more worried that he might have scuffed Ms. Baggins floors with his skull. Having a short dream about cakes and warmth and softness was rather pleasant. Waking to the smell of fried bacon didn’t hurt either.

But probably the best thing was waking up to her. 

Because it wasn’t Dwalin shaking him saying they needed to get down to the forge. It wasn’t Balin saying the mines were running low and they would need to find a new one. It wasn’t Fíli and Kíli jumping on him because they wanted to play. It wasn’t Dis, burning and screaming, who he had seen throughout the night in his sleep. 

It was Bilba Baggins; the sweet, caring hobbit lass who’d taken them in without asking who they were and gave them food, baths, beds, first breakfast (while sounding like she was going to give them a great deal more), and was now offering bacon in one hand, and holding out the other to help him. And Thorin, for the first time in a century, felt blessed. 

He took her hand with a sheepish smile, and she gestured to the table without a word about his scene. The boys were eating hungrily and happily, diving into the sweets and meats. The adults joined them, and the group ate without speaking (except for Kíli occasionally sounding out her name incorrectly), but the sounds of chewing, burping, and laughing filled the room with comfort. 

After having amazed Thorin and the children with the incredible eating capabilities of hobbits (because none of the dwarves could believe a non-dwarfish woman, with that petite of a figure, could possibly consume that much seven times a day) everyone was thoroughly stuffed, and Bilba thought it was time to get down to business. 

“So boys, what do you like to do for fun?” she asked happily. The brothers beamed at her in excitement. 

“Play tag!” said Kíli.

“Wrestle!”

“Draw!”

“Play knights and dragons!” 

And they continued to list off more childish games, amusing Bilba quite a bit, and heavily worrying Thorin.

“Now boys,” he began, and the two immediately closed their mouths in disappointment, because they knew that they couldn’t really do all that. 

“I have some paper and charcoal in my office!” Bilba cut him off, “Would you two like that?” The boys nodded rapidly and Thorin looked at her astonished. Bilba left for a moment and was back in a flash with paper and a few sticks of drawing charcoal. 

Thorin decided right then that the hobbits must have secret passageways in their homes. 

“Why don’t you boys draw with each other while Thorin and I chat?” 

His heart sunk to somewhere below his stomach. Here it comes. At least Bilba was kind enough to distract the boys while she declared what she expected him to do for her. 

The boys dropped down to the floor at her feet as she handed them the utensils. She moved back to where she ate breakfast and slipped into her seat with a cheery smile.

“So Thorin.” He braced himself. “Since we don’t know how long you’ll be staying…” He took a deep breath, and prepared for the worst. “I was hoping you could tell me about dwarven culture.” 

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. What? She wasn’t going to—

“It’s just that none of my books say much about dwarven lifestyles and I don’t want to accidently offend you by saying something I don’t understand and I think it would be good for Fíli and Kíli to grow up knowing their heritage.”

He swallowed hard. On one hand, this was one of the most thoughtful offers he had ever heard. On the other, dwarf culture was incredibly private and shared with very, very few people outside their race. 

But seeing as this was the woman who had saved the lives of the King Under the Mountain (in Exile) and the Crown prince and the second prince, Thorin believed she had more than earned the right to know. 

“I can tell you whatever you would like, Ms. Baggins,” he agreed, “If you could teach us about hobbit culture.” She beamed at him and looked like the sun on the best day of the year. 

“I would love to!”

And that was how much of the morning was spent. They traded and compared information about their lifestyles, the dwarves’ beard care and the hobbits flowery traditions. They both found each other quite odd, and the two laughed at inappropriate times more than once at the other culture’s expense. But there were similarities: food of course, living underground, hating orcs (though that could be said for most races, the exception being orcs and goblins), and a general dislike of their own tiny stature when it came to being in the presence of other races. 

That turned out to be a very large portion of common ground. 

But as the four finished off second breakfast, she told the boys to go look through the nursery for any toys they might like, and turned to Thorin.

“I know this is a difficult question, and you don’t need to answer, but would you mind telling me why you the other dwarves ran you out? Gandalf said they were trying to kill you, but I can’t imagine why.” 

And there it was. The oliphaunt in the room. 

Thorin sighed, “What do you know of the kingdom of Erebor?” 

Bilba racked her brain. “Ummm…” She was sure she had seen it on one of her maps, somewhere off to the east. “Off to the east. The…Only Mountain?”

“The Lonely Mountain,” Thorin clarified. “My grandfather Thror was King Under the Mountain when the fire drake Smaug attac—“ 

He was caught off by the sight and sound of Bilba spitting out her tea and coughing hard into a hankerchief. 

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently, reaching over the table to her. She raised a hand to calm him and pulled the fabric away.

“I’m sorry—did you say your grandfather was King?!” she nearly shouted. 

“Yes. He was King until his death, and now I am King in Exile, until the day I can retake Erebor or pass to the realms where my fore-bearers reside.” 

Bilba stared shell-shocked. 

And she had told him that there was no need for formalities.

“I-I—Oh my goodness! I’m sorry! I never realized—Royalty! Oh my goodnessohmygoodness—I’m sorry!” she rambled in fear. 

“There is no need to apologize!” 

Bilba stood stunned. Thorin had his hands out towards her. They were as still as statues and the only sounds were that of the boys laughing and playing in the sitting room. 

“Gandalf never told you?” he asked. It hadn’t occurred to him she didn’t know. He assumed she either didn’t care for dwarven royalty or didn’t feel the need to be formal considering the circumstances. 

Bilba’s eyes widened as she realized that yes, Gandalf had left out that little piece of information. 

“I’m going to break his staff in two,” she growled to herself. He smiled at her reddening face. He had never seen her angry before. It was kind of adorable when compared to dwarven rage. 

“Don’t worry yourself. There’s no harm done.” She looked like she wanted to continue ranting about the wizard, but Thorin cut her off. “As I was saying, my grandfather Thror was King Under the Mountain. Our kingdom was glorious and flourishing. We had gems and metals of every form being dug from our mines and even the elves of the Woodland Realm paid homage to us. But King Thror’s love of gold…it was a curse on us all.” While Thorin’s face had beamed with pride as he spoke of his homeland, it quickly darkened as the story persisted. “He had gold piled in hills as big as the ones in your village and it poisoned his mind with a gold lust as insatiable as a dragon’s. And it attracted one.” 

His icy eyes flicked to her emerald ones, and he could see the fear radiating from them. 

“Smaug invaded our mountain with fire and claws and there was nothing we could do but flee. We’ve never been sure exactly how many died that day. Many a warrior fell under the dragon’s fire and paw, but so many were left in the mines unaware. The gates were large enough that the majority of our citizens were able to escape, but Smaug destroyed the entrance not long after he arrived. I don’t enjoy imagining what happened to those who did not make it out in time.” 

Thorin took a deep breath. “The elves I mentioned? They sat back and let the drake do as it wished. They stood by as our forces were ravaged and never lifted a hand except to give the order to turn away. We were alone. So many were lost in the days following. Starvation, exposure, it was sheer chaos trying to organize our forces. There were elders and children and dwarves who had never bothered to leave the mountain before. We warriors had endured worse, but our civilians never dreamed of it. So we kept moving. We worked and forged and mined in cities of Men and each time we were treated as lesser citizens and were soon kicked out. Eventually we founded a settlement in the Blue Mountains. There was little for us, but enough to survive.”

Bilba stared into her tea. She knew what hunger was like. She knew what living on next to nothing could do to a person. She understood the weight of loss better than most.

But the Shire had always recovered. There was always hope to be found in the Shire. There was never an endless nothing. There was spring. There was family. There was always hope. 

“But Thror could not stand it. He led our warriors to the gates of Moria, a long lost dwarf kingdom overrun with orcs. It became known as the Battle of Azanulbizar. And although we drove our enemy back, all we had were the bodies of our fallen brothers to show for it. My grandfather was beheaded by a pale orc, Azog the Defiler.” 

He growled the name as if it was poison on his tongue.

“My father Thrain disappeared. Killed by blade or heartbreak we have never known. I fought the pale orc until I had nothing but an oaken shield to defend myself with and—“

“Is that what that branch is?!”

Thorin pursed his lips. 

“Yes,” he answered disgruntled, “And that branch is what earned me the name Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Oh.” Bilba glanced at the entrance to the sitting room where she had laid the branch. Near the fireplace, to possibly be used as kindling. “My mistake. Please continue,” she murmured sheepishly. Thorin gave huff and continued his tale.

“I had nothing but an oaken shield to defend myself with and stood alone against the filth, and took his arm. He was carried back inside where he eventually died. And the battlefield was ours.” While Thorin was never one to be modest, the mention of the victory only brought pain to his face. 

“I lost my grandfather, father, and soon I would also discover that my younger brother had been felled by our enemy. There were no celebrations that day. Or any following. But since that day my people have come to resent the line of Durin and believe it unfit to rule. They think that because Thror’s and Thrain’s blood runs through our veins, we are destined to follow in their disgrace. So they decided to remove us.”

Bilba looked at him, disbelieving.

“But your nephews?! They’re just children! How would they be a threat? Could they not have just dethroned you?” she asked.

Thorin sighed, “In most cultures they would have, but dwarves believe deeply in blood lines. For us, a dynasty cannot end unless the line is broken. And so they attacked.”

There was a long silence that even the boys’ fun could not breach. Bilba had her hands wrapped around one of her mother’s tea cups that suddenly didn’t seem so warming. Thorin stared at nothing, memories swirling in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Bilba whispered, “I’m so sorry. For everything. What happened—all of it—was horrible and beyond tragic. If you need anything, Thorin, please don’t be afraid to ask.” He gazed into her eyes, searching for naivety, but only found understanding. He nodded, his throat dry from speaking, and glanced at where the sounds of his nephews’ playing erupted from. 

And he realized that, perhaps, there was hope to be found in the Shire. 

\--------------------------

After luncheon, which gave Fíli a stomach ache, Kíli a sugar rush, and nearly put Thorin in a coma, Bilba decided that it was time to talk about Shire life—in regards to how the dwarves might find themselves within it. She sat Fíli down with a pillow to hug through the pain, and made Kíli sit in Thorin’s lap, restrained by a heavy arm. She sat in a separate chair and tried to think of a place to start.

“I suppose the first hobbit you’ll meet and come to know best is my gardener, Hamfast Gamgee. He lives just down the road and comes up every other day or so. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you when he arrives.”

Thorin gave a suspicious glance and pulled his nephews closer. 

“Relax, Thorin. Hamfast has worked for me for years. He’s perfectly trustworthy. Ham wouldn’t hurt a fly. His wife now, she is a wonderful lass. But she can be right vicious if she thinks that you see yourself above her. Might be best to forgo mentioning the royal blood until she gets to know you better.” Bilba sat thoughtfully, trying to imagine how the hobbits would take having three dwarves in the Shire. “Let’s see. After that the Tooks are the hobbits who you will probably get along with the best. Enormous clan, very rich, mischievous. I’m a grandchild of the matriarch, Grandma Took. That bunch will think having dwarves in the Shire is a wonderful development. I bet you two will love playing with their kids as well. They just love running off into the forest and playing with swords.” 

The boys perked up at that and Kíli energetically attempted to wrest himself from Thorin’s grip, to no avail. 

“I wanna play!” he pouted. Bilba chuckled. 

“Maybe later. Now the next biggest family is the Bagginses. My father was one. They are the polar opposite of the Tooks. They like punctuality, propriety, and proper behavior. They disdain adventure and excitement and would be happy if nothing ever changed. They’ll be tough to crack. But the longer you stay the more you’ll become a normality, and they’ll get used to you.”

Thorin looked at her skeptically. In human villages they had welcomed the dwarves with fascination, finding them a rare and interesting sight. Then the dwarves became normal. And then they were asked to leave, because they were ‘a burden’ (if the humans were being kind) or ‘untrustworthy’, ‘dangerous threats’, and ‘thieves’. How long would it take for the hobbits to lose interest in them?

“I’ll take you all to meet the Tooks in a few days, once we get you situated.”

Thorin cocked an eye brow. 

“What do you mean?” 

Bilba looked up in surprise. 

“I just mean we’ll need to go out and get some new clothes for you. And maybe some brushes. And shoes. Oh, I know a toy shop you two will love!” The boys squeaked in joy at that. 

But Thorin felt guilt. He had never liked owing debts. And now they were piling up. 

“But we’ll have to save that for tomorrow. Why don’t I show you around Bag End?” 

While two of her three guests didn’t feel like they could move, Fíli managed to moan out, “Where’s is that?”

“Where is what?”

“Bag End.”

Bilba sighed, “It’s the name of my smial.”

“Whassa smile?” Kíli asked as he bit Thorin’s hand. 

Bilba rolled her eyes. 

Children, really. 

The dwarves laid there for a few more minutes, pondering how hobbits did not explode from eating so much, much less ran around farming and laughing. When she finally managed to get them moving, Thorin had Kíli held up with one arm and was holding Fíli’s hand with the other. 

She showed them all of the bedrooms and bathrooms, the three sitting rooms, her study, the cellar, the kitchen (which they were already quite familiar with), and the three pantries (where Thorin nearly fainted again). 

Thorin discovered that no, Bag End did not have secret passageways nor was it a labyrinth. Hobbits were just quick and quiet creatures apparently. 

He was still suspicious. ‘Fairy Magic’ and ‘Fae Blood’ did not sit well with him. 

The dwarves liked Bag End quite nicely. The nephews especially. Thorin, who had seen Erebor in its greater days found it quaint. The boys thought it was the most wondrous cabin they’d ever seen, seeing as the homes they had stayed in were all rusty shacks. But Bag End was both spacious and cozy, and had something for everyone. 

So the small group relaxed. Bilba took her own bath, and was slightly terrified that something might happen while she was indisposed. But low and behold, when she changed back into her clothes and dashed back to the sitting room, Thorin was bouncing his nephews up and down on his knees. 

Watching from the doorway, Bilba caught her first sight of the dwarven family actually acting like a family. Fíli and Kíli were bubbling with cheer and Thorin was smiling. And laughing. It was joyous and booming and pervaded through the room. Bilba leaned against the doorframe and realized they didn’t know she was there. A mischievous grin crept over her face. She darted back into the hall and went around the room, sneaking in the doorway behind Thorin. She entered silently, and when she saw the boys’ eyes notice her, she put one finger to her lips while she pointed at Thorin. 

They got the idea. 

She inched closer, taking extra caution to avoid even the slightly creaky boards, until she was standing just behind the couch.

In a kind, perhaps quieter than usual voice she said, “Who wants supper?”

Thorin jumped like there was a fire under his bum. 

He spun on his heel with a nephew under each arm. He was panting with wide eyes and stood like he was facing an army. Bilba tried to hold back a grin and put on a sincere, innocent face, but couldn’t hold it when Fíli and Kíli cracked up. She put a hand over her smile to try and hide it, but her laughs forced themselves out in squeaks. 

Thorin let his shoulders go slack and set each of the boys down.

“You are lucky I didn’t have my sword,” he breathed, half-serious.

“I’m sure,” Bilba agreed. She knew it was probably not the best idea for a joke, but the boys enjoyed it, so why not?

“C’mon. I set a couple chickens in the oven before I washed up. You all need to go get cleaned yourselves.”

“What?!” Kíli shouted.

“But we had a bath yesterday!” Fíli moaned. 

“I mean you need to go wash your hands before supper. I let you get by being dirty at the other meals but it’s been all day. Now go.” The boys slumped their shoulders but obeyed, walking side by side to the washroom, and Thorin’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when they seemed to know exactly where they were going, when he was still foggy about the layout of her home. 

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“What?”

“Get them to listen to you and do things they don’t want to do. They only do what I say when they like what I’m saying.” 

Bilba chuckled, “It’s all about bribery. Food to children is like gold to adults. Now you best be off too.” 

“What?”

“You’ve been playing with those boys for the past half hour. You need to rinse your hands as well.” 

He stared indignantly. Who was this woman to give such petty demands to a King? 

“I am not a child.” 

“I am aware. Now go wash up with your boys or all you’ll get is a salad.”

Thorin sucked in air. The nerve! 

“You would withhold food from me? Your guest?”

“Oh please, it’s not as if you’d starve. You’d just have to eat like an elf for a night. Or however long you refuse to wash. Your. Hands.”

Thorin’s hands were shaking as his face went red.

“You are crafty and sadistic.”

“That’s why Gandalf sent you here.” 

Bilba darted away from the King to the kitchen, trying and failing to resist a smile. Thorin could have every kindness he wanted if he followed her rules. And she would have no dirty hands at her table. She pulled out the chickens and started to cut them into the distinct body parts. She set out the salad, the potatoes, and the ham she had prepared earlier. 

Back turned, she only heard the boys’ cheers and yays as they entered and saw the meal. She noticed the heavy thumps of Thorin’s boots a minute later. She turned to set out water for Fíli and Kíli and found them already in their seats waiting patiently. As the boys had discovered at dinner, grabbing for food before everyone is situated is very impolite and worthy of a light smack on the wrist (unless someone is unconscious and they have been told to help themselves). Thorin resided in the doorway with suspiciously clean hands. 

“Go ahead and help yourselves. I just need to grab something from the cellar,” Bilba said after she set some wine out for herself. She brushed past Thorin and skipped down the hall. Thorin turned his head to watch her go, wondering what she was after. But he let it go and went to sit down at the square table between his nephews, who were already filling their plates. He smiled warmly. This day had been good. Saddening at moments, but relaxing and enjoyable for the rest. He had been shocked by Fíli and Kíli’s cheer. The two hadn’t cried or let on at all that they might be traumatized. Thorin knew there were two sides to that coin though. Either they were already scarred, in which case they might be holding back the pain and might explode when it got to be too much, or they were genuinely naïve to what happened, and he would have to explain what occurred and where their mother is sooner or later. 

Neither seemed comforting for all the boys’ joys. 

But as he loaded up his plate he heard steady footsteps coming from the hall. Odd, because as he had suddenly realized earlier the hobbit moved like a ghost. He turned to face the archway to the hall, and was greeted by Bilba carrying a large tankard. 

“I thought you might like this more than my fruity wine,” she said as she set the ale by his plate.

Thorin stared at the golden liquid. When was the last time he’d had a good ale? Sure, it might be hobbit-y ale, and who knows what that might entail, but ale was generally ale. 

He slowly put his hand through the grip and lifted it to his nose. A strong scent hit his nostrils. He cautiously sipped the drink, not noticing Bilba watching him closely. 

It was splendid. 

Even by dwarven standards—which were quite high compared to other races—this was a well-crafted drink. 

He took a few more gulps, tasting some of it while letting the rest punch the back of his throat. It was refreshing, nostalgic even. A memorial to better days with friends and family and light-heartedness. 

He set the tankard down with a pleased sigh. Bilba grinned to herself. 

It was a widely unknown fact that hobbits were the producers of some of the best barley, yeast, roots, grapes, and (ESPECIALLY) pipe-weed in all of Middle Earth. Their parties, though small comparatively, were some of the finest in the land and occurred delightfully often. Bilba wanted to get the dwarves introduced to some of the hobbits, especially the Tooks, so she could bring the dwarves and have them be able to talk to someone. She knew little of dwarven gatherings, but really, no race could compare to hobbits when it came to party business.

So they ate, they chatted, Fíli and Kíli told the adults about all of the things they had drawn, and once again the dwarves lost the unofficial eating contest to their tiny host. As Bilba was passing out desert (which was technically second desert but Bilba decided to not mention that) a thought came to Thorin’s mind.

“Ms. Baggins—“

“Bilba.”

“Bilba. Earlier, when you were talking about hobbit families, did you say you were part of the Took and Baggins clans? I know you said they were as opposite as night and day. How are you a child of both?”

Bilba poked her slice of apple pie thoughtfully. “Well, my mother was the eldest daughter of the Old Took, the old patriarch of the Took clan. She was quite the adventurous young lass. Traveled farther than almost any hobbit before her. Tooks couldn’t have been prouder. Bagginses were a bit put off though, but she was known to be one of the most beautiful and kind lasses in the Shire. My father was Bungo Baggins, and he was quite taken by her apparently. I don’t know how he went from being the child of two utterly and completely respectable Bagginses around to being married to my mother, but he was quite determined. Built her this house, actually. People always used to talk about how different they were, but growing up I never noticed.” 

Bilba smiled at the memories coming to mind. “I guess you could say they had similar interests with opposite personalities. They had the same goals and went about reaching them in the Took and Baggins ways. My father, he loved studying; hearing and learning about the world outside the Shire was a passion of his. My mother loved it just as much, but had no patience for sitting in one place with a book. She went out and explored. They benefitted each other really. Bungo had maps and reports to show my mother the best way to get from here to wherever, and Belladonna always brought him back more books and stories. The study is filled to the brim with her souvenirs.”

Thorin glanced at the boys, who were surprisingly devoted to Bilba’s words, even if they were stuffing their faces with (was that their first or second slice?) of pie.

“But I think what did it was how well they understood each other. My father knew my mother had a wanderlust no man could quench, and my mother knew my father would always be tied to his home. They didn’t question or try to change each other. Other hobbits, the ones who tried to court each of them beforehand, were always after something. Lads wanted to be the ones who ‘tamed’ the great adventuress. Lasses were after my father’s money or social standing. The two of them felt neither. Mother had what money she wanted from her own family, and father and enough respect for the both of them.” 

Bilba finished off the last of her pie with a long chew. “It was always a shock to everyone how devoted they were to each other. But they accepted it. And me. Which I believe was actually my parents’ biggest worry. But both families never hesitated to be warm with me. I got enough of each of my parents to be seen as a part of each clan. The Tooks think I am a very Baggins-y Took, and the Bagginses think I am a very Tookish Baggins. But they both think of me as one of their own, which is really all that matters.”

Thorin tried to imagine what Bilba’s family life was like, being torn between two families. He had never experienced anything like it. He was his father’s son, the heir to Durin’s line. He loved his mother fiercely, but being of her family had never amounted to much. He knew his maternal side, but they had always been happy to see his mother as a part of the Durin family, rather than him as part of theirs. 

“Your family is very complex.” 

Bilba laughed at that. 

“I suppose it is. But I’ve always looked at it this way: Family isn’t exclusive to blood. It’s a choice sort of thing, isn’t it? Family means you love each other, you look out and care for each other. I’ve got some cousins who I would never call family. They are just my relatives. I’ve got friends who are much closer. I mean, isn’t that what marriage is? Two people who aren’t blood calling each other family? Really, I think family is what you make it. Not whose blood runs through your veins.”

Thorin, for all he was grateful to the hobbit for, tried to not seethe. While he somewhat agreed with her meaning, blood lines were vastly important to dwarves. Your family was as much a part of you as you were of it. 

“My grandfather was part of my family. He had gold-lust and brought a dragon down on our heads but I would not just discard him because I was angry with him,” he growled, his first unkind words to her. Bilba was somewhat surprised, but was quick to reply.

“I wouldn’t either. Do you think under his gold-lust he loved you any less? I don’t believe a person has a set amount of love to give out. I think he cared for you, just as family does, and he certainly did not mean for any misfortune. All I’m saying is that family can be more than just relatives. It’s who you care about, who helps you when you are suffering—“

“And what do you know of suffering?!” he nearly shouted. The boys shrunk into their seats as they witnessed their uncle’s temper. Thorin could take her unusual opinion of family, but if this woman who lived in this sweet little house and had food to fill an army thought she knew anything of pain, he would not stand for it. Bilba stared at him, eyes wide with a dangerous edge. Her mouth was a fine, tense line and she spoke quietly; a steely, frightening calmness to her words.

“Do not doubt my knowledge of agony, Thorin Oakenshield, or I will share it with you,” she answered coldly. The boys, sitting opposite each other, flicked their eyes from the adults to themselves, wondering what would happen. They had seen their elders argue before, and it never ended well. 

Thorin saw the seriousness in her eyes, the age that should not be there. He saw scars he only ever witnessed in pained warriors hiding in her gleaming green irises. But then she glanced at the boys, noting their fear immediately, simultaneously drawing Thorin’s attention to it too. 

“My apologies,” he said quickly and quietly. “I should not have lost my temper.”

“I’m sorry as well. I should have chosen my words more carefully.”

They looked at each other then and reached an agreement internally. 

For the boys.

So the adults picked up the dishes and set them in the sink and moved on. 

Well, mostly. 

“You know this only proves me right about your grandfather though. We were both overcome by something negative, but it doesn’t mean we don’t have concern for anyone else. We aren’t related either, but here we are cleaning plates together.” Thorin huffed though his nose but didn’t argue. The hobbit made an annoying amount of sense when she wanted to. 

As children often do when weighed down by full stomachs, the boys soon began to yawn and slow their movements as the group strode to the sitting room. They sat there for a while, amd Bilba got out an old story book and told a few tales as Thorin held his nephews close. The adults thought the children were about to nod off when Kíli started sniffling. 

“Are you tired, little one? Do you want to go to bed?” Bilba asked.

Kíli shook his head. 

“Do you want some water? A toy?” Thorin asked. 

Kíli shook his head again, so vigorously that his hair flapped around him, and the sniffling increased. 

Bilba realized what was coming a second too late. 

“What do you want, lad?” Thorin asked, thinking his nephew was not feeling well, perhaps from all that food.

“Mama,” Kíli whimpered, and Fíli seemed to retract himself into a ball against Thorin. “I want my mama,” Kíli repeated, louder and sterner, “I want my mama! I want my mama!” He began to shout and the tears came in full force. Thorin lifted his hand from Fíli to try and pull Kíli closer, but it only worsened things. Kíli sobbed angrily “You lef’ her! You lef’ her! You shoulda saved her!” Kíli was screaming in childish agony and beat on Thorin’s chest with tiny, violent fists. His uncle looked bewildered and wounded like his nephew was stabbing him. “Why didn’ you save her?” Kíli moaned in a hoarse voice, “Why didn’ you save mama?!” 

Bilba wasn’t sure what to do. Every word seemed like a knife to Thorin’s heart but would her intervention be welcomed in such a private matter? Especially after their spat?

But then she looked at Fíli. He was curled up in a ball, head between his knees with his hands on his ears, blocking it out. He had certainly been the quieter of the two siblings. Bilba assumed it was part of being the older brother, that he felt pressured to be responsible and take care of Kíli, but what could he do now as his brother wailed like a hound caught in trap?

Bilba got up. 

She walked straight to where Thorin was sitting and plucked Kíli from his lap and held him to her chest. She put one arm under him and another on the back of his head, holding his face to her shoulder. She gently bobbed him up and down and his screaming was replaced by fitful crying. It hurt her heart to hear, but she hoped it was at least a little easier for Fíli. 

“Hush now, sshhhhh. It’s okay. It’s alright, little one,” she soothed. She glanced down at Thorin who still had his hands hanging over his lap where Kíli had been. He gazed up in shock of it all. She turned away and left the room, only able to deal with one wound at a time. “Here now, sshhhhh.” Bilba tried to think of what Thorin had told her of dwarven culture, if there was anything she could say to comfort him.

“I miss my mama…” Kíli moaned tearfully into her neck. Bilba had wondered when that bubble would pop. Trauma had a way of creeping up on you and hitting at the least expected times. 

A bit like a hobbit, actually. 

“I know dear. I miss mine too,” she said honestly, forcing her voice steady. “But now our mothers are in better places, right Kíli? My parents are together and happy. And you mother is with Aüle, correct?” 

Bilba wasn’t exactly sure if it was. Thorin had spoken more about the creation of dwarves than what happened after their deaths. For obvious reasons, she hadn’t pried. 

“With papa?” Kíli asked suddenly, peeking out from her shoulder to gaze at her with big wet puppy eyes. 

Bilba felt her heart snap in two. 

“Yes,” she sighed, “With papa. And I bet she is happy to see him.” She walked towards the nursery with weak knees and shaky legs, but continued, “Your mother was a very brave woman, Kíli. And you have to be brave too. But one day you’ll see her again.” 

Kíli nodded, tears slowing. 

“For mama.”

Bilba reached his room and entered, sitting down on the bed. She rocked him slowly side to side. 

“I know it’s hard, Kíli, believe me I know. But you’ll be okay, you and your brother. Thorin and I are going to take care of you.” 

She felt his arms tighten around her neck as a shiver went through him. They sat there for an unknown measure of time, until she heard his wheezing stop and flatten into paced breaths and his body went limp. She pulled back the covers as she balanced him with one arm, and laid him down. She tucked the soft blankets up to his chin and wiped away the tear streaks with a hankerchief. 

Bilba took a few deep breaths, and went back to the others. 

Thorin and Fíli were sitting close—but not together—on the couch. Fíli was still curled into himself, and Thorin sat slack, looking decades older in the firelight. She walked to the edge of the couch and kneeled down. 

“Fíli,” she asked tentatively, “Would you like to go to bed?” 

She heard him sniffle wetly, and he looked up from his arms with a tear-streaked face. He didn’t say a word, but held his arms out to her. She lifted him gently into her arms and headed to the hall. 

She could have put him straight to bed, but what good would that have done?

Out of Thorin’s earshot in the hall, she asked, “Fíli? Is there something you want to talk about?” 

He tensed in her arms, but without moving his chin from her shoulders he answered, “It’s my job to protect him. Mama said so.”Bilba didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “Kee never met papa so it’s my job to watch out for him. And I didn’. And now mama is gone.” 

A child cried in her arms for the second time that night. Fíli was quieter, but he wheezed and it sounded even more painful. “Ev’ryone we care abou’ goes ‘way. An’ it’s my fault cause I’m not careful. They say thur gonna be there and then they get hurt. And I don’ want Unca Thorin to ge’ hurt and I don’ wanna be alone and I’m scared and I wan’ my mama and-an—“ His tears cut him off. Bilba shut her eyes tight and bounced the boy slightly in her arms. She put her hand on the back of his golden hair and pulled him in tight. 

“I know it’s scary, Fíli. I know it’s hard,” Bilba whispered as she held back her own pain. “But you don’t need to worry. You are safe here. You and Kíli and Thorin. None of you are going to get hurt. I will take care of you. All of you. You will never be alone.”

“I still godda watch out for Kee an—“

“No, Fíli. You don’t. It’s very brave and loving of you to watch out for your brother, but if you always hold his hand he’ll never be able to take care of himself, now will he? You let me and Thorin take care of everything. You don’t need to put so much pressure on yourself.” Fíli was quiet for a moment, and Bilba thought he might sleep like Kíli, but no such luck.

“I want my mama,” he cried into her neck. 

Fíli seemed even less consolable than his brother. So Bilba tried a different approach. 

She began to sing. 

“Hush now my sweet.  
My little bumble bee.  
You are safe and sound   
And surrounded by honey.”

It was a lullaby her mother had written for her as a child. It was based on her honeyed curls and the warmth and love Bag End had been full of in better years.

“The frost might be harsh.  
The winter may cut deep.  
But I will keep you warm.  
Though I know you’ll weep.”

Belladonna had made it up during the Fell Winter. Bilba had been just a little older than Fíli at the time. The season had ravaged the Shire’s crops and allowed wolves to enter its borders. 

Many died. 

From many things.

Starvation created the largest body count, especially among children and the elderly.

The cold had frozen more as well. 

The wolves ripped apart those traveling alone or unprepared. 

Bilba had almost been one of them. As well as Belladonna.

“But spring will come again.  
The plants will bloom once more.  
You’ll be surrounded   
With joy and love galore.”

Eventually the hobbits outlasted the season. They survived and were careful and prepared for it to ever happen again. They all kept emergency stores in their cellars. Some of the greater smials had tunnels running to each other in case of emergency. The Shire would not be brought to its knees again. 

But that didn’t erase the scars. The emotional or physical ones. 

The memories forced drops from her eyes before the song was even over. But she didn’t let it affect her voice, and Fíli seemed soothed. 

Bilba moved to the nursery door. 

“Fíli, I can get you your own room if you’d like. But it’s okay if you want to sleep with your brother tonight. It’s entirely up to you.”

Fíli nodded weakly but without hesitation. 

She entered silently and pulled back the covers once more. Fíli slid in beside his brother and held his hand. Bilba re-tucked them in and whispered, “Good night, boys.”

She crossed back to the door, but just before she exited she heard Fíli reply “Good night, Ms. Baggins.”

And Kíli added sleepily, “G’night Ms. Boggeens.”

And Bilba left the door cracked. 

She headed back to the sitting room feeling much more tired than she had but a half hour ago. 

And she found Thorin, face in his hands, looking like a broken man. 

She sat down next to him, emotionally exhausted, but knowing there was still one more dwarf to take care of. 

“He was right,” Thorin started, his deep voice wounded and wet, “I should have saved her.”

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“She was my sister! My little sister! Their mother. I—“ his voice broke, “I failed.”

“No, Thorin, you didn’t,” Bilba said, her voice reaffirmed. “She was your sister. Their mother, just like you said. I’ve seen how much you care and love them and that’s how I know you did everything you could have possibly done. You saved her sons! You call that a failure? She knew what she was doing when she protected them. She died saving her children and damn it all if that isn’t an honorable way to go. Some things can’t be helped, Thorin. Some lives can’t be saved. But her sons are safe, and I think that she would be infinitely grateful to you for that.”

“I’ve lost everything except them,” Thorin choked out, his head still down. “My whole family except for the two of them. What will they grow up knowing of their family that is not tragic? Not disgraceful or embarrassing or traumatic? I have suffered loss through my life and survived, but I was not a child when it began! What am I supposed to do?” he exclaimed. 

Bilba put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him up to look him in the eye. 

“Keep going. Your nephews don’t have any family except you either. And they are going to need you more than anything. You’ve endured everything the world has thrown at you and you must continue to do so until better days.” 

Thorin sighed wetly, “And what if they never come?”

“They will,” Bilba said through her own agony, “They always come. And I will help see you to them.”

Thorin stared back to the fire. The flames reflected in his wet eyes as Bilba watched. 

“She would be proud of you. They all would.”

Thorin spun slowly back to her, searching her eyes. 

“Come on. You need to get some rest,” she said as she grabbed his arm with both hands. He was heavy, but did not resist. Bilba led him back to his room and helped him into bed. 

“There will always be better days, Thorin. You just have to have hope.”

Falling asleep with her sitting on the edge of the bed where he laid, Thorin debated her words in his head. 

He had lost hope a long time ago. He found stubbornness was a much more effective motivator. 

But some things cannot be endured. 

And some things can’t be lost.

But as Bilba started to sing once more, Thorin decided that maybe the hobbit lass was right. 

About a great many things.


	5. A Rocky Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli and Kíli and adorable!  
> Thorin wants to smack himself!  
> Hamfast shows up!

Once again, Bilba rose early that morning, already knowing it was going to be a very long, complicated day. Hamfast would be arriving in a few hours, she needed to go to the market, and the dwarves were likely to be very confused and emotionally fragile. When she went to the bathroom she found her own face splotched with tear stains, and quickly wiped them away with a hankerchief. The night before had taken a toll on all of them, and she knew there was little they could do but endure. She grabbed a light yellow blouse, green vest and brown trousers, and headed for the kitchen. Breakfast was always priority one. 

She started frying some light meats and figured something sweet would help the dwarves’ moods. When she turned to grab the flour from a cabinet, she noticed the boys standing in the doorway, holding hands and looking like a couple of kicked puppies. 

“Good morning, boys,” she said softly. If Thorin managed to get any sleep at all, she knew it was best to let him get as much as possible. The lads greeted her half-heartedly and she knew they were probably more emotionally exhausted than actually tired. Her own heart was still sore, but seeing the two still hanging on warmed her greatly.

The two stood looking lost and unsure, so she offered “Would you two like to help me with breakfast for Thorin?” Their faces lit up like hearths and they nodded vigorously. “Okay then, let’s see what there is to do.”

She made sure they were kept away from the frying pans. 

But she got out the flour and honey and sugar and all of the other ingredients and measurement tools they would need, and helped them mix some honey cakes and cinnamon rolls. While the two boys’ eyes were filled with determination and they kept surprising quiet the whole time for their uncle’s sake, they still managed to splatter plenty of the batter on themselves and Bilba. She giggled at their innocent foolery as she wiped them clean. She filled the cakes tins with the batter and put them in the oven to bake ans set Fíli and Kíli on licking the bowls, knowing they’d probably have them shiny clean when they were finished. 

As the sweet scents of a bakery filled the smial, Thorin arose from his slumber and strode sleepily to the kitchen. He was mildly surprised to find the boys already up—and cheerful at that—and glanced at Bilba, who returned his gaze with a gentle smile.

She figured it was best that no one asked how the others slept. 

“Breakfast is almost ready. I was hoping afterwards you could give the boys a bath. Hamfast is coming over and these two need a wash.” 

Thorin gave a brief nod and walked over to where his nephews were sitting on the countertop next to a couple of remarkably clean bowls. As Bilba ducked over to pull the goods out of the oven he pulled his boys in for a tight, loving hug. They returned it without hesitation. 

Bilba pretended she hadn’t seen it in of the corner of her eye. 

Thorin helped her set out the food and dishes and the four ate quietly. When his hunger was satiated he ran over her words in his head.

“When is this Hamfast coming over?” 

“Oh, um,” Bilba looked over her shoulder to the window to check where the sun was. “In a little over an hour. He’s usually here for second breakfast so we can go over what needs doing. Oh, he often brings these delightful cookies and—“

“Are you sure we can trust him?” Thorin said, trying to not sound horribly suspicious—or scared. Bilba looked at him with a exasperatedly raised eye brow. 

“Thorin, I know you are worried, I understand that. But please, hobbits are the most harmless creatures out there. The worst you’ll get here is a few upturned noses from the Sackvilles. Hamfast is quick to trust and is a kind-hearted man. He would never put children of any race in danger.” Thorin gazed at her skeptically but didn’t say a word. He turned to his boys and found them covered in honey, cinnamon, and powdered sugar. 

“Baths it is then,” he said and the boys let out matching groans. He picked them both up onto his shoulders, and headed for the washroom. 

Bilba was slightly miffed that she now had to clean up all the dishes, but most of the cooking wares were already washed and dried, so she left the plates to soak and went back to the hall with the dwarves’ rooms. If this was going to be their first impression for the hobbits of the Shire, it was best to make it a respectable one. She searched through the nursery closet, finding the nicest clothes she could for the boys. Tiny vests, little trousers, and wee shirts that would fit just right. She thanked the Valar she had been sentimental enough to keep them. Next was Thorin’s room, which almost made her think he had been staying somewhere else. If it didn’t have his fur coat and armor lying across the chest at the foot of the bed, it would have looked no different than when they got here. The boys’ room had been fine, a ruffled bed and a few toys lying around, but not unclean, just lived in. Thorin’s room was impeccable. She shook the shock from her head and looked through the closet. This is where she encountered her first problem.

Her father’s finer clothes were much too small. The only thing that could fit Thorin were his old sleep and winter wear, neither working well for respectable first impressions, especially considering it was only nearing the fall. 

Now what?

She couldn’t sew him anything in time; she would have to go down to the market. 

Would Ham care?

Probably not. 

So she grabbed the lightest fine winter wear her father had owned, and set it out with the boys’.   
Remembering the last time she had knocked on the bathroom door, she decided to just say “Thorin, I’m setting out some clothes for you and the boys by the door,” and dashed away. 

She began checking the house over, making everything look as respectable and presentable as possible, and tried not to fret. When the dwarves found her in the sitting room, Fíli and Kíli looked like floundering fish out of water in their wee vests, though that made them all the cuter to Bilba. She squeaked in delight and let out an ‘awwwww’, to which the boys seemed rightly offended and Thorin flushed. He didn’t look too bad either, though the thicker shirt was still a hair too tight and the trousers only reached half-way down his shins. They had a good amount of hair on them, which Bilba thought the hobbits would appreciate, but his feet were still tiny and relatively hairless. She debated which would be more disturbing to the hobbits: tiny feet or enormous boots. 

“Well don’t you all look rather dapper?” she chuckled. Fíli and Kíli pouted while Thorin remained straight-faced. 

They lounged around the room for a bit, the boys trying to figure out how to move again in the restrictive clothing as Thorin braided his hair. Bilba tried not to stare, but when he caught her the third time he spoke. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Hm? No! It’s fine. I’ve just…never seen a man braid his hair before. It’s a rather girlish thing around the Shire,” she answered sheepishly, hoping she hadn’t offended him. They hadn’t talked much of hair in their discussion of cultures, it was mostly history and a little about normal habits and trades. He pursed his lips like he had bitten something sour, but didn’t sound angry when he answered. 

“For dwarves, braiding hair is a cultural normality. It shows accomplishments and family connections, as well as social standing. I only wear two out of choice, but many braid with diligence and dedication.”

“Will you braid theirs?” she asked, glancing to wear the boys were spinning in circles, trying to see their own behinds. 

“They are young yet,” he answered, “For now they just keep their hair clipped back for sight.” Bilba nodded as she checked out the matching silver clips on the lads’ heads. 

“Did you make those?” 

“When Kíli was born. Children are few and far between for our race. Having two was a blessing. I wanted them to be forever held together by something.” She nodded. 

“I guess that is a difference between us then. Children are practically the opposite of a rarity here.”

Thorin raised an eye brow. 

“How so?”

“Oh, well, I suppose the average couple has about four. Almost always at least two. The Tooks and Brandybucks tend to have more. The Bagginses tend to have three or four while I know three Took families with eight and counting.”

When she glanced back at Thorin, his eyes were about to pop from his skull. 

“Surely you jest.”

She laughed. 

“Oh please, my aunt Mirabella and her husband Gorbadoc just had their seventh three months ago and she’s already with child again, and my mother was the fourth of twelve! The only race that can beat us is rabbits.”

Thorin was slack-jawed. How?! How was that possible?! Even Men only ever had about two. Four was unusual, and five was dangerous! How could these little creatures breed like wild animals and survive? 

It was with that in mind, Thorin asked unthinkingly, “So where are your siblings?” 

Bilba went cold. 

Her features turned from laughing to solemn, and Thorin wanted to smack himself. 

“My mother…” Bilba started, “She had trouble. With me. She got sick about half-way through her term and most didn’t think she’d make it.” Her voice was so quiet, but it had an important air to it, and even Fíli and Kíli settled down to listen. “Nothing the doctors tried worked. No one knew what to do.” And then suddenly, her lips turn slightly upward, and she spoke with a little more heart. “But then Gandalf came. He was always a friend to my mother. Took her on her first adventure. He had made a run for the Shire as soon as he heard she was ill. His magic saved her life. And mine as well. But he advised her to not try again. The whole ordeal sapped a lot of her strength. She barely left her bed for the first few weeks after I was born. So I grew up the only child.” It was a bittersweet ending, and Thorin decided family was going to be a subject they’d just never ever bring up again.

She gave him a brief smile and left to set out second breakfast. Fíli and Kíli watched her pass out into the hall, and then ran to Thorin’s side. 

“Unca’ Thorin?” Fíli said, “Is Ms. Baggins sad?”

“We should make her feel betta, Unca!” Kíli joined in.

Thorin sighed. He just wished he knew how. 

He patted them on the back and said, “Come on, lads. Let’s give her a hand.” They marched to the kitchen and Thorin helped lay out the trays of food while the boys set the table. “How long until he arrives?” he asked her. 

“Oh, he should just be a few minutes. And Thorin,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder which he tried to not stare at, “really, you don’t need to worry. Ham and his wife had their first child just less than a year ago. He understands what it’s like to be worried about them.” 

“Not like this,” he growled with his eyes closed. “No one ever tried to…” His voice drops off at the end. His eyes flicker open and fall on his nephews who are staring at the last of the cinnamon buns like cats stalking mice. 

“No, not like this, not like you. But Thorin,” she said, squeezing his shoulder so he turned and looked her in the eye. “I promise you, I would never put them in a situation that could at all be dangerous. You need to trust me on this. Or at least trust Gandalf.”

Thorin heaved a deep sigh and nodded. 

“Just remember, don’t call him short. Hobbits don’t like it when you call them—“

She was cut off by rap at the door. 

Thorin gulped. 

The boys looked at her questioningly, fear and uncertainty swirling in their eyes. 

“I’ll get it. Just sit down and relax. But don’t touch the food!” she shouts lightly as she heads for the front door. Thorin seats himself and the boys follow suit. They hear the door open and the conversation that follows.

“Good morning, Ms. Baggins!”

“Good morning, Hamfast. Please come in!” 

“Delightful day we’re having, lass. I think those tomatoes might just be ready, and the corn is looking mighty fine and—“

“Oh Ham? Actually, today I was thinking you might take off from gardening. There are some guests I want you to meet.” 

“Oh?” 

Thorin can hear the voices getting closer and the dwarves watch the doorway expectantly. 

“Yes, they’re friends of Gandalf and they’ll be staying for a while—“

“Oh, is the wizard back in town?”

“No, he just dropped them off but you need to know that they’re—“

“A bit rude, that seems. Just dropping people off and leaving? Do you know who they are? I mean—“

“Oh it’s no trouble. They just needed help and they’re actually quite kind but you see they’re—“

“How many are there? Are they Big People? Elves? I heard Gandalf is very close to the elves. Wasn’t Belladonna friends with a few?”

“Well yes but Hamfast listen they’re—“

And that’s when they entered the kitchen.

Hamfast was met with three pairs of searching eyes. Two were big and sparkling with curiosity despite the tiny bodies they were connected to, and one was unreadable, blank and emotionless. 

Ham was slack-jawed. 

Dwarves. 

“G-good morning,” he stuttered. They didn’t respond. Hamfast’s wide eyes danced from each one to the next. Two children! And who was this man? Living with Bilba? Well, Ham was less concerned with propriety than a few others he could mention, but that hardly seemed appropriate! 

“You brought cookies!” Kíli shouted when he noticed the basket the Gaffer was carrying that, indeed, smelled splendidly like raspberry cookies. 

“Aye,” he answered a little blankly. He turned to Bilba who was standing a little behind him, eyes wide and questioning.

“Hamfast, these are my guests,” she said, gesturing to the table’s inhabitants. “This is Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin. This is Hamfast Gamgee.”

Well, Hamfast hadn’t run out of the room and Thorin hadn’t stabbed him, so Bilba thought it was a good start. 

“Well, let’s eat!” she said, almost pushing Ham into his chair and sliding into her own.


	6. Breakfast With Ham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Hamfast is protective.  
> Fili and Kili's cuteness is approaching critical mass.   
> Oh, look! Hobbits!

With Thorin and Hamfast sitting on opposite sides and the boys across from her, Bilba ate second breakfast, happily denying to herself any and all tensions in the room. The lads seemed unphased by it either, and munched excitedly on Hamfast’s cookies. The two men stared at one another, unmoving and unwavering, though their gazes were slightly tinged with curiosity. Thorin studied the hobbit, for it was the first male of the race he had seen, and he found it to be little different from the female variety. Soft, round, seemingly unused to anything harsh at all. And Hamfast examined the dwarf, for it was the first one he had seen of its race as well. This ‘Thorin’ looked harsh, dark, and dangerous. The boys appeared as sweet and innocent as any hobbit child, and Hamfast took some comfort in that, but mostly he worried for Bilba. She was living alone with this man? What was she thinking? What was Gandalf thinking?

“So how long did you say you’d be staying, Master Dwarf?” he asked with forced politeness. He was a good-natured man, but he also tended to worry about the lone mistress of Bag End. She had been a bit off ever since she lost her parents. Couldn’t be easy. Hamfast had done what he could to help, but even then, what could be done?

“I didn’t,” Thorin said coldly. While he wanted to make a good impression for his nephews’ sake, he owed this man nothing. He could hold his tongue to Bilba for all she’d done for them, but who was this hobbit to question him?

“Ah,” Hamfast replied. Thorin snorted. Bilba winced. “So you’re just staying here, with Ms. Baggins, for an unknown amount of time on her dime?” Hamfast asked shrewishly. 

“Hamfast!” Bilba exclaimed.

“I am not some peasant leech begging for scraps!” Thorin stood up from the table, “And you are her gardener! Not her bodyguard!” 

“Thorin!”

“I might as well be if you are staying with her alone, Master Dwarf,” Hamfast sneered as he too rose from his seat, “And you should be grateful for her kindness and not act like a vulture!”

“SIT DOWN BOTH OF YOU,” Bilba roared from her seat, and the men stepped away, taken aback. “This is second breakfast, not a duel. Sit down and eat.”

They obeyed. 

Fíli and Kíli watched stupefied at the lady across from them. A conqueror of kings, she was! 

Bilba glared at the men, eyes snapping between them. 

“Hamfast,” she began, “They are my guests, not workers. It was my choice to take them in and I would make it again. You do not need to protect me from people you don’t even know.” Hamfast looked at his food sheepishly. “And Thorin!” she growled, “Stop acting like everyone is a threat! Someone else’s concern for me is not an attack on you! Let go of your infuriating pride!” Thorin averted his gaze, ashamed. 

Men. Ugh. 

“Now, Hamfast, I was hoping you could take the day off and help me give the dwarves a better understanding of hobbit life, so no one gets ACCIDENTALLY OFFENDED and smacked with one of my frying pans.” He nodded vigorously. “I need you to go into town this morning and spread the word that there are dwarves staying with me.” Both men stared at that. “I need to go to the Market today and I think taking Fíli and Kíli would be a good way to help everyone adjust. It would give the boys a view of hobbit culture,” she said, locking eyes with Thorin, “And everyone else would see that dwarves are just like anybody else,” she finished by meeting eyes with Hamfast. “However, I doubt it would be in anyone’s best interest for me to just waltz into town with two dwarflings in tow, so I need you to let everyone know, Hamfast.” The farmer nodded slowly. 

“Aye, I can do that.”

“Good.”

“Is the Market safe?” Thorin interjected. Bilba rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Yes. Yes, it is quite safe, Thorin.”

“And while you are there, am I just to remain here and wait?” he asked. 

Bilba sighed.

“Actually, I was hoping Hamfast would come back and keep you company.” The men glanced at each other and scoffed. “Seeing as I am less familiar with the habits of male hobbits, I thought it would be healthy for you two to compare notes. However, considering recent events I am more and more realizing that would be a very poor idea for either of your health.” 

Well they both seemed to agree with that. 

“Beelba?” Kíli asked.

“Yes?” Bilba tried not to groan. 

“Are we going to get to see the hobbits?” he asked excitedly. She glowered at the men. 

“Yes. Yes, you will. Hamfast?” 

“Yes?” 

“Seeing as nothing at my table is satisfactory,” she said, glancing at his and Thorin’s empty plates, “why don’t you go into town and get some breakfast, eh? Tell a few stories?” 

His gaze moved from her to Thorin and back. 

“Aye,” he said, and began to make leave, “but could I get a word lass?” She nodded and followed him towards the door. “I’m sorry about that little fit, I’m just worried about ya, is all. Are you sure he’s…safe?” 

“Yes, yes, he is perfectly fine, Hamfast,” Bilba reassured grumpily, “He is just concerned for his nephews. He’s had a hard time of it recently.” 

“Well I can understand worrying about a child, and I feel for the lads, but Bilba,”he said, glancing at her with care, “He is…a lot bigger than you, okay? I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Bilba held back the fire in her heart. How could he ever think Thorin would, well, do something like that?! But Bilba knew Ham only meant well. 

“I know, Hamfast, and I appreciate your concern, but there is nothing to fear. I know Thorin seems fierce but that’s just how dwarves look compared to us. And he’s a good man.”

Hamfast accepted her words reluctantly and nodded towards the door.

“Well I’ll be off then, see you this afternoon?” 

Bilba smiled, “Yes, looking forward to it.”

She quietly closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. 

One hobbit down, about one-hundred forty to go. 

\----------------------------------------------

“He started it,” Thorin defended. 

“You enabled it.”

“He was assaulting my honor! Calling me a vulture, I would never—“ 

But then it occurred to Thorin, that yes, he was living off Bilba. Hamfast was right.

“Perhaps I should get a job,” he said quietly. 

“What?”

They were resting on the couch while Fíli and Kíli wrestled lightly on the floor. 

“Thorin, you don’t need to—“

“I do. I will not live off your kindness, Bilba. When you go into town, I will look for hirings and—“ 

“No, Thorin,” Bilba said firmly. “You will not. You are going to rest, relax, and spend time with your nephews. You have nearly worked yourself to death. Maybe later we can find something for you, but for now, please, don’t pressure yourself.”

Thorin didn’t agree, but said nothing, watching his boys. He needed to provide for them. He always had. Perhaps the Shire had a forge…

Bilba sighed. The dwarf was stubborn. Too much for his own good. 

“I’m taking the boys into town today to show the people of the Shire dwarves are not so different. Please, Thorin, try to not kill Hamfast while I’m gone,” she said with humorous sincerity. Thorin smirked at her joke. 

“No promises,” he replied. 

The four lounged around the smial for the next few hours, and Bilba got out one of her big tomes of stories her mother had brought back from Rohan. The lads sat enraptured by the tales, and a few even perked Thorin’s interest. They ate their way through luncheon, and eventually there was a knock at the door.

“Are you two ready?” she beamed at the boys. They nodded excitedly, hair bouncing up and down. “Are you?” she gave Thorin a knowing look.

“Yes,” he answered snootily. 

She smiled to herself and opened the door. Hamfast was waiting, cookies in arm. 

“I thought the lads might like a few more,” he greeted quietly, and Bilba saw the apology. 

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted. Did you get to tell many?” 

“Oh, my dear, the whole of Hobbiton is wondering about your guests. It’ll be to Tookborough by tea time.” 

“Wonderful,” she said. “Come on boys! Let’s go see the hobbits!” Fíli and Kíli dashed to her side, and she grabbed her bag. She took one of their hands each, and glanced at Ham.

“You will be alright, right?” 

“Right, lass.”

\-------------------------------------------

The Market was in full bustle when she arrived. 

Well, here we go. 

Bilba trotted down the soft dirt path, lads keeping up well for their curiosity, and approached the edge of the stands. She took a deep breath, and headed for the booth with children’s clothing. 

The hobbits stared. 

Here was Bilba Baggins, mysterious mistress of Bag End, who had been living alone and relatively solitary for so many years, hand in hand with two dwarf boys, neither over the age of twenty, heading through the Market. 

And they had thought Hamfast had eaten the wrong mushrooms. 

They watched as the young lass wearing trousers unlike most every other dame her age guided two tiny lads around the people in carts, the two of which were wearing shoes of all things!

And Bilba happily pretended nothing was out of the ordinary, smiled at everyone who gave her the odd glance, and went about her shopping. The tailor gazed bug-eyed at the pair as she picked different tunics and trousers and compared them against the boys, asking which ones they liked. He didn’t say a word, more due to shock, but when she bought a great many items he found he couldn’t complain of the boys, who had been beaming and studying everything like it was a whole new world. 

The keeper of the adult tailor probably had the larger shock when she asked for the largest sizes he had, which actually appeared as though they would fit Thorin, and he also didn’t complain after she bought some of his nicest (and largest) garments. 

Bilba noticed how the boys grew bored in the older store, so she took them by the toy stand, already full of children their age. 

The kids stared at each other. The tiny hobbitlings and the little dwarflings studied each other, and Bilba tried to not have a heart attack.

“Hi! I’m Kíli and this is my older brother Fíli! What are your names?” he asked jovially. Bilba thought they were blessed by the Valar when the hobbit children all lit up and started answering over each other, asking questions eagerly about the two new comers. 

Bilba stepped around the excited children and purchased a few of the toys she thought the boys would like, and glanced back towards them. 

Fíli and Kíli were not there. 

\----------------------------------------------------

“I never realized how scary that lass could be,” Hamfast admitted.

“Aye,” Thorin agreed. They were sharing a pint from Bilba’s cellar, which Hamfast had just happened to have stumbled upon, and were awkwardly trying to make amends. “I-I,” Thorin searched for the words, and met Hamfast’s eye. “She has taken us in kindly with no reason to, and for that I am unspeakably grateful. I will not let any harm befall her.” Hamfast nodded. Maybe the dwarf wasn’t so bad. A little gruff, but he’s new after all. What could one expect?

So the pair chatted amiably, and Hamfast told him of male hobbit habits, which usually involved smoking, working, partying, and trying to not get hit by their rolling-pin wielding wives. Thorin could see the similarities between dwarf and hobbit women quite clearly.

\----------------------------------------------------

Bilba was losing it. 

Where had they gone she turned her back for two seconds where are they oh no oh no this is bad very very bad—

She was dashing around the Market, trying to not look horribly upset while desperately searching for the boys. Her heavy purchases weighing her down, she slowly started to panic, trying to avoid the thought of what Thorin would say now that he had finally trusted her. 

But then she heard laughing.

Familiar laughing. 

She rushed around a stand to find a happy pair of lads in cheery arms. 

“Hey Bilba! Are these yours?” Primula laughed. She ran to her. Primula, bless the intelligent teen, had a boy under each arm, each nibbling on a tart. Bilba gasped with relief and pulled the lads into her arms tightly. 

“You two little scamps gave me a heart attack!” she cried, crushing them against her. She reluctantly set them down and held each of their hands as she kneeled to their level. “Don’t ever wander away like that again. You had me worried sick!” 

They stared at her with large, apologetic eyes. Kíli was still munching on the tart of course, but Fíli had the sense to stop and speak.

“We’re sorry Ms. Baggins,” he started, and Kíli shook his head up and down, tart hanging from his lips, “We didn’t mean to.”

Bilba sighed. She could never stay mad at children.

“Well it’s alright now, no harm done. Just try to be more careful next time.”

She looked back at Primula, who was beaming. 

“And thank you so much dear. I hope they weren’t too much trouble,” Bilba said awkwardly, only imagining how weird the situation must seem from the opposite end. 

“Oh they were no trouble at all! Little delights, and so cute! What are their names?” she squeaked. Primula was an excitable teen. A Brandybuck if ever there was one. 

“Oh, well, this is Fíli,” Bilba said, gesturing to the blond, who gave a little bow, “and this is Kíli,” who gave a little burp. Primula giggled. “You really did save me there though. If there’s anything I can do—“

“Can I babysit?” Primula asked eagerly. Bilba blinked. Not exactly what she expected. 

“You’ll be at the top of the list,” Bilba assured, and Primula jumped for joy. “We need to get going, say goodbye boys.”

The lads waved at the lass and she waved back with a grin. Bilba’s heart began to slow as they trekked back through the Market, not caring for the looks of others. She made her way back up Bag Shot Row, and found Thorin and Hamfast laughing at some story involving too much ale and a horseshoe. Hamfast gave a merry send off, and Bilba slumped into her seat. 

Fíli and Kíli raced to show their uncle everything they (Bilba) had gotten, and Thorin gave her a reprieve. He took the boys back to their room and unpacked the new clothes into their dresser, and did the same with his while the lads played with the toys Bilba had bought them. 

He sagged into the seat next to Bilba and gave a long whistle. 

“Remind me to never have children,” she joked weakly. 

“Agreed.”


	7. Dark Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is defensive.  
> Fili and Kili get scared.  
> Bilba fixes everything.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys like the last chapter?  
> Everything was so happy and cheerful.  
> And we can't have that.

“NO!” Thorin roared. He thrashed his fists and met nothing. Panting, he looked for the monster. Nothing was there. He was in the master bedroom of Bilba’s smial, in bed, safe and sound. Not being chased by a mob, or hunted in the forest, or attacked by orcs, as his mind had portrayed. 

It was just a dream. 

But there was a rushing in the hall, fast footsteps, and his eyes snapped to the door as it flew open. 

“Thorin?!” Bilba gasped, wide-eyed. Her breathing was panicked and quickened, and the candle stick she held was flickering with tremors. Her beige nightgown flowed down to her ankles and wrists, and the boys were suddenly by her side, terrified and verging on tears.

“Unca’?” Kíli asked fearfully, his lip quivering. Fíli’s eyes were searching the room and kept peering down the hall, looking for enemies. 

“I’m fine,” he choked gruffly, “It’s fine.” Bilba stepped forward cautiously as she checked him over. Thorin was sweating hard; there were even dark spots through his tunic. Kíli clung to her nightgown, knotting it up in his hands. “I only had a dream,” he said, wiping down his face with a hand. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bilba asked gently. Thorin’s eyes flicked to hers, and he glared angrily. 

“I am not weak, Ms. Baggins. I do not need to be coddled,” he sneered, “I have faced far worse than mere pictures in my mind. I am fine!”

She winced and took a step back. He clearly was not what he claimed. But there was no reason to say so in front of the boys. 

“Okay, just checking,” she said, “Come on, boys. Let’s get back to bed.” She patted Kíli on the back of his head and herded the boys back to their room. Fíli crawled to his side against the wall and she laid Kíli down near him. She reached for the blanket that had been so frantically thrown off minutes earlier, and tucked it around their necks snugly. 

“Ms. Baggins, is Unca Thorin okay?” Fíli asked concernedly. Bilba thought to herself how responsible Fíli always seemed, considering how responsible a child could be. He was always on the lookout, always thinking of Kíli and even Thorin. 

“He is just stubborn, Fíli. I’ll make sure he’s alright. You two get some rest now.” She brushed their hair back behind their ears and gazed fondly at them. They had seen far too much for such little time in this world. “Good night, lads. Sleep tight.”

Thorin’s door was still cracked open when she approached it. She slowly pushed it more and let herself in. Thorin was sitting hunched over, the covers pooling in his lap. His face was in his hands but he straightened to look at her when he noticed the light. 

“What?” he growled defensively. 

“Thorin,”she pleaded. She wasn’t sure what to say. He could be so hard and cold on the outside, wall after wall. She sighed quietly, “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but you don’t have to keep it buried inside. You can talk to me. Please, I know you are hurting and I understand you might not be used to help but you don’t need to push anyone away to protect yourself!” 

“You have done enough, Ms. Baggins. You have cared for me and my nephews but I do not need help fighting the tricks of my own mind! I have faced armies of orcs, and night visions are nothing to a blade! Images in my mind cannot hurt me,” he answered scornfully. She took a deep breath and nodded. She backed away towards the door.

She had a foot in the hall before she turned back to speak.

“You’re right, Thorin,” she began, and he turned to listen, “The visions in your mind are not nearly as dangerous as the monsters in the world. But they are much harder to escape.”

And with that, she went back to bed. 

\-------------------------------------------

The next day was a pleasant one. Much of it was spent tutoring the dwarves in hobbit manners and etiquette, which the boys found boring and Thorin found overly complex and flowery despite Bilba’s affirmation that they were ‘a simple people’. Hamfast stopped by after luncheon to catch up on the gardening he’d missed and noted to Bilba that the entire Shire was abuzz about her guests, many curious about the adult dwarf staying in her home. 

Some said it wasn’t proper. 

Or safe. 

Or very Baggins-y. 

But Bilba didn’t care too deeply if they thought the idea of two single adults of opposite sexes and different races living alone (sort of) together was improper. Thorin and his boys needed her. 

What she was worried about was if the hobbits would accept them. She, for any and all oddness, was still a hobbit, and treated with decency if not kindness and respect. The dwarves did not have this luck and it made her wonder what the Shirelings would do. 

So she spent the rest of the afternoon tailoring the finer clothes to their owners. She was happy to know that Kíli would one day be able to get Fíli’s clothes as the he was a smaller scale model of his brother.

Unfortunately, it still took both of the adults as well as a bribery of smores after supper to wrangle either of the boys into sitting still long enough for Bilba to pin the clothes right. Kíli refused to stop running like a boar was after him and once he was in full swing Fíli went careening into mischief right after him, wearing his new pants as a hat and looping circles around the adults until they were dizzy from trying to catch him. 

Eventually Thorin was able to hug Kíli to him so tightly he was unable to escape and Bilba was able to see where the shirts and tunics needed mending, and afterwards Fíli was forced into obedience with the threat of no dessert. 

To the boys, it was a declaration of war.

They agreed that it was unwise to wage war on Bilba anywhere she could witness it, so while she was in Thorin’s room fixing his clothes they rearranged her spice cabinet.

They also hid Thorin’s boots which had been residing in the sitting room for the past two days, as well as filled them with sugar and honey, so there would be bugs in them when he next used them, and they would also be incredibly sticky. 

The boys hid the evidence, washed themselves up, and smiled deviously at each other. 

\-------------------------------------------

“Would you quit moving?” Bilba chastised with playfulness. They had released Fíli and Kíli almost out of pity and retreated to Thorin’s room to try and fix his new garments. He stood with his arms out to his sides as she circled around him, pinning this and marking that, pricking him more than once.

“I would if it were not for the pain! Who taught you to mend? A torturer?” Thorin quipped back. The needles were not nearly as bad with his thick skin, and the time away from the children was relaxing. The pair had calmed down from the madness of earlier and were happy to joke. 

Though Thorin reminded himself that, if need be, Bilba could sub for him in an interrogation.

Bilba chuckled and smiled. Thorin could be pleasant if the conditions were right. Even so, she avoided going behind him as much as she could, for fear of accidentally poking something more sensitive. 

When they were done, Bilba told Thorin he looked very much like a proper hobbit, if one only ignored the long hair, large muscles, and tiny feet. 

He was also strikingly gorgeous, but Bilba kept that part to herself and clenched her jaw to stop from blushing. 

\---------------------------------------

When the adults returned, it was time for supper, and if Bilba wondered how her clove made it to the back of her cabinet, she didn’t voice it. 

\---------------------------------------

Later, as the boy’s energy began to dim and Bilba’s tea ran low, they agreed it was time for bed. Bilba went to her room to change and Thorin plucked the boys up and carried them to their beds. He helped them change into the night wear Bilba had bought them, and tucked them in. They held his hands and stared up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Will you sing us a lullaby, Unca Thorin?” Fíli asked.

“Like Mama?” Kíli added. Thorin’s shoulders slumped but there was no pain. He could not refuse them this and he was happy to sing an ode to better days. He smiled lightly at them and began in a deep baritone.

“Far over the Misty Mountains cold,  
To dungeons deep and caverns old,  
We must away, ere break of day,  
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,  
While hammers fell like ringing bells,  
In places deep, where dark things sleep,  
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

It was the song of their tale. Of a lost home and its treasures. It was not a happy song, but it was hopeful. 

And a promise. 

“On silver necklaces they strung  
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung  
The dragon-fire, on twisted wire  
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the Misty Mountains grim,  
To dungeons deep and caverns dim,  
We must away, ere break of day,  
To win our harps and gold from him.”

And as the boys drifted to sleep, Thorin made a promise to them. He would win back his home. Their home. They would not live out their days in fear. They would live as princes and kings once more. He promised it to them. For them. For Dis. 

And Bilba watched from the cracked doorway. She listened to his mournful song and witnessed how he petted his nephews and hung over them like a shield. When he turned back, he saw her immediately, but neither made a move. 

Slowly, he rose and headed for the door. She was waiting for him, wrapped in a patch-woven robe. He quietly closed the door save for a hair, and looked back at her. She returned the gaze with a comforting smile. 

“In all my years, for all the adventures I thought I might have, I never imagined having a dwarf king singing his nephews a lullaby in my nursery.” 

Thorin gave a soft snort. 

“And when I was Prince Under the Mountain, still under the mountain, of all the grand traveling and great crusades and campaigns I dreamt of, none of them ever arrived in the Shire.”

They sighed with a slight chuckle and wished each other good night.

\------------------------------------------------

Bilba was woken in the middle of the night once again, but this time by a tiny knock at her bedroom door. She rubbed her eyes and lit her bedside candle with a match.

“Come in,” she whispered sleepily and just loud enough to carry. The door cracked open, revealing Fíli who wore a guilty look, hand still clutching the door knob. She could see Kíli just behind him to the side, holding his brother’s hand. “Oh, come in. What is it boys? Do you need some water?” she asked. 

Fíli didn’t meet her eye, averting his gaze to the floor as he shook his head. Bilba thought she heard Kíli whimper. 

“We had a nightmare,” Fíli said weakly, his voice wet. For a second, Bilba cocked a brow. They had a nightmare? Together? How?

But Bilba didn’t ask. Whether it was some sibling connection or Fíli wanting to protect his brother or one had a bad dream that scared the other, it was not of her concern. But she was curious. 

“I’m so sorry boys, but why didn’t you go to your uncle? I’m sure he’d be concerned.”

Fíli sniffled, stifling a sob.

“We didn’t want to seem weak.”

Oh.

Oh, Bilba was going to hit him. 

With something hard. Where was her cast-iron when she needed it?

But that would have to wait. 

“Oh boys,” she said mournfully, “Come here.” She opened her arms and the boys rushed to her, scrambling into the bed and hugging into either side of her. She pulled the blanket up and lightly draped it over them. Kíli was on her right, his head on her shoulder and hugging her neck. His soft hair tickled, but she kissed his forehead gently. Fíli was on her left, his head on her belly, clutching her nightgown. She could feel a few hot tears on his face melting through. She placed a gentle hand on each of their backs and tried to soothe them. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly. She felt Fíli shake his head vigorously against her, but heard Kíli give a muffled sob.

“Mama,” he whimpered.

And that answered all of her other questions as well. She laid there with them for some time until the boys fell asleep and she too drifted away from the world. 

\-------------------------------------------

Thorin was the first to wake up that morning. 

He didn’t smell anything cooking, which was usually his first thing to notice. He changed into some of the lighter clothes Bilba had bought him, and went to check in the boys. He snuck into the hall quietly and peered through the crack in their doorway. 

Fíli and Kíli were not there. 

Thorin’s stomach plummeted, his heart raced, and the blood drained from his face. 

He ran. 

He ran through the home, room to room, searching for the boys, finding nothing. 

Would Bilba kno—

Oh Gods, Bilba!

Was she still there? Was she safe?

He dashed to her room and the door would have ripped off the hinges if he had not had an iron grip on the door knob. 

There they were. 

Bilba, with her fluffy honey curls billowing around her head like a cloud, a soft smile on her sleeping face.

Kíli, the tiny lad resting against her with one hand holding her gown and the other near his mouth, where he was sucking his thumb. 

And Fíli, nothing but a hill under the blanket on Bilba’s other side. 

She had her arms curled around both of them, and they stuck to her like they were sewn together. 

Thorin sighed in relief. 

But then he wondered. 

Why were his boys here? In her arms? In her bed? Cuddling and looking so comfortable with the soft-skinned lass while he—

Thorin shook his head. 

He backed out of the room, and closed the door behind him as gently as possible. He swept to the kitchen as fast as he could (which was not very fast as he lost his way twice) and started to make a real dwarven breakfast. 

\---------------------------------------

When Bilba arose the first thing she noticed was the weight. A head on her shoulder and another on her stomach. She couldn’t move at all without waking them.

But then she smelled food. 

“Bacon?” she murmured to herself. 

And that woke up the boys.

“Bacon?” Kíli shot up like a rabbit.

“Bacon!” Fíli exclaimed, though he was muffled by the blanket. They dashed out of her bed and into the hall, and Bilba suddenly felt much colder. 

She still had the decorum to get dressed before leaving her privacy, and found a pale blouse with a lavender vest and a yellow skirt. 

It had always been a personal debate for her mother, whether trousers or skirts were preferable. While trousers tended to allot for more movement, a tight pair could easily rip. Trousers were lighter, but if they were torn the offending object went straight to the skin, while a skirt had a few ruffles to soften the blow. For the same reason, skirts were also warmer. With trousers paired with a decent overcoat, any hobbit lass could pass as a male, which aided Belladonna more than once, but a skirt was able to hide more things, like tools and weapons. So though she was not a vain or fashion-oriented woman, Belladonna Baggins always kept a large assortment of leg clothes in her closet. 

Bilba brushed her hair quickly, stomach growling, and headed for the kitchen. 

She gasped to stop from snorting when she got there. 

Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain in Exile, was in an apron. 

Her head tilted to the side. 

He was frying up bacon and a bunch of other meats along with some potatoes and eggs, all of which smelled right delicious. 

Bilba vaguely recalled her mother telling her to find a man that could cook before she stepped forward, attracting the dwarves’ attention. Fíli and Kíli turned to beam at her from where they standing by their uncle’s shins. 

“Good morning,” Thorin said, glancing over his shoulder. She nodded and waved to the boys. Well this was a pleasant surprise, though she still wanted to know where her cast-iron was.

“What is all this?” she asked, surveying the dishes (which were almost entirely meat) that were already left out.

“This is a real dwarven breakfast! Since you are teaching us so much of your culture, I thought it would be wise to see some of ours,” Thorin explained. He certainly seemed peppy. Bilba floated to his side and peered at what he was frying. More bacon. 

Because the other two plates of it left out were not nearly enough.

Fíli and Kíli were moving from dish to dish, drooling and occasionally stealing a piece when they thought the adults weren’t looking. When they wandered out of ear shot, Thorin spoke. 

“I saw they slept with you last night. What happened?” he asked curiously.

Bilbo fixed him with a look and said bitterly, “They had a nightmare.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why had they gone to her? Did they not think he could soothe them? Was he no longer their protector?

“I am sorry they disturbed you,” Thorin said, searching for the words to ask about the boys’ choice in guardian that would not offend her.

“No problem at all. I am more concerned for them,” she answered. 

“What happened? Why did they not come to me?” Thorin spurted out. She glared at him.

“They were afraid of looking weak in front of their glorious uncle.”

It struck Thorin’s heart like a knife. His boys were afraid of him? His shoulders slumped and he stared at the pan blankly. 

“They’re scared of me,” he whispered. 

“They’re scared of disappointing you, Thorin,” Bilba said, “You, who have always been there. Always protected them. You’re their role model! They want to be just like you. But stubborn denial is not healthy in children. Or adults for that matter.”

He didn’t answer. She continued. 

“I know you aren’t used to living like this. That you aren’t used to this life. But trying to forget the scars of your old one while holding on to the same attitude of it will get you nowhere.”

They stood silently for a few moments, the only sounds crackled from the sizzling pan and the boys’ whispers about food. 

“It was Dis,” he said. 

“In your dream?”

“No. She was the one who comforted us,” Thorin answered. He met her eyes, his swimming with painful memories. “When we lost our brother, she let me cry on her shoulder. Same with our grandfather and father. When her husband died she held Fíli like he was a precious gem. When any of us had nightmares…” Thorin snapped his gaze back to the pan and swallowed hard. “I apologize for my rudeness earlier. It was not fair to you.”

“It’s okay, Thorin,” she forgave, “Just watch what you say in front of the boys. They listen to you, whether or not they act like it.” Thorin nodded, and went back to cooking. 

\-----------------------------------------

It was not an easy day. 

Thorin was going into town. 

Bilba tried not to faint. 

He had refused to let a young woman he had never met before watch over his children, so Fíli and Kíli were joining them.

Bilba tried to not panic. 

And she prayed the Sackvilles would not be there.

The fact of the matter was they were running out of fresh food and needed to stock up. And Bilba could not carry all of the food they would need back by herself. But here was Thorin, more than happy to do some heavy lifting. The lads were overjoyed to get to go see the hobbits again. 

So Bilba made sure they were in the nicest clothes they had, save for ones worn to special dinners, and tried to figure the quickest way in and out of the Market that still got to all the stalls they needed. 

The dwarves were just pulling on their shoes—which was another thing worrying her as they were distinctly NOT hobbit-y—when she heard Thorin shout.

“WHAT DID YOU TWO PUT IN MY BOOTS?!”

\-----------------------------------------

Bilba thought it was quite a funny joke considering all they had done to her was mixed up a few spice jars. But eventually Thorin was able to clean out his boots (though they stilled smelled delightfully sweet) and they left Bag End. 

Thorin carried Fíli on his shoulders most of the way, and Bilba had Kíli on her hip. Plenty of the hobbits tending their gardens stopped to stare, but none said a word. It occurred to Bilba that this was Thorin’s first time out of her home since arriving, and certainly his first time truly among hobbits. He seemed more than a little tense. 

But he carried on, and Bilba ignored the suspicious glances he gave anyone who gazed too long. 

They finally made it to the Market, and Bilba thanked the Valar that some of the Brandybucks were there. 

Including Primula. 

“Ms. Baggins!” she exclaimed when she saw them. The teen dashed up to them in her ruffled skirt and bobbing curls. “How are you? Are the lads doing well? Who is this fine gentleman?” Primula rambled excitedly. Thorin’s brow rose in surprise. Quite unusual temperaments, these hobbits. 

“I’m wonderful, Primula, and the boys are doing great. And this,” she gestured to Thorin, “is their uncle, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Primula smiled up at him and gave a small curtsy. Thorin gave a curt nod in response, unable to bow with Fíli atop him. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Oakenshield,” Primula greeted. “You know that’s kind of a hobbit-y name, actually! I’m a Brandybuck and there’s the Goodchilds and the Greenhands and the Hornblowers and—“

“And how are you, Primula?” Bilba asked with the utmost politeness one could have while interrupting another. It didn’t slow the girl down any, though.

“Oh I’m excellent, Ms. Baggins! I was just telling my family about your guests! Absolutely adorable tykes!” Thorin seemed surprisingly proud of this and stood a little straighter. Bilba glanced at Primula’s family. The Brandybucks were a welcoming bunch, but fierce if threatened. They were far too adventurous to be liked by the Bagginses, but even so they were cautious of strangers. Indeed, Primula’s six siblings, two of their spouses, and her parents were looking at Thorin with faces ranging from fear, surprise, curiosity, and everything in between. Her father, Gorbadoc, stepped forward. 

“Good morning, Ms. Baggins,” he began politely, “We’ve heard of your new guests. Would you mind introducing us?” Bilba gave a small smile to Thoirn, who set Fíli down gently on the ground. 

He gave a deep bow, and said with a surprising amount of respect, “Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.” When he rose, Gorbadoc regarded him with a bit of shock, but a strong grin. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he answered, putting out his hand. Thorin stared at it. Bilba elbowed him. She had taught him this! With a jump in memory he grasped Gorbadoc’s hand and shook it, and when they released Gorbadoc kneaded his own hand gently. “Quite the grip he’s got,” he murmured, and Thorin suddenly looked quite worried. “Welcome to the Shire,” Gorbadoc finished with a respectful nod. 

And Bilba mentally jumped for joy. Winning over Gorbadoc was akin to winning the whole clan. 

The older hobbit glanced down at the blond dwarf. 

“And who is this fine lad?”

Fíli immediately dove into his own bow, and said in his young voice (that seemed only higher when following Thorin’s), “Fíli, at your service.”

The women swooned. 

Gorbadoc gazed at Kíli.

“Hi!” Kíli replied with a wave of his hand. He chuckled. 

“They are lovely boys. If you ever need a baby-sitter, Primula’s hasn’t stopped talking about them,” he said with a wink. Bilba nodded gratefully, knowing Thorin probably wouldn’t. “Well, we’ll let you get on with your day. Wonderful to see you, Bilba!” And he herded his family through the Market.

When they were out of earshot, Thorin spoke. 

“Hobbits seem to trust quite easily.”

“Only on good recommendation. The Tooks and Brandybucks have always been close so I hold a certain amount of regard. But believe me, it will take a lot more than a bow to win over the Bagginses. And Grandma Took for that matter.”

Thorin stared after the large family absent-mindedly. He plucked up Fíli and stuck him back on his shoulders. And they shopped. 

The dwarves were once again astounded by the sheer amount of food the hobbits sold, bought, and consumed. An entire branch of the Market was devoted solely to baking necessities, another to produce, and one more to drinks of all sorts. Fíli and Kíli nearly fainted at the sight of the candy corner. 

Bilba was actually able to purchase even more than normal thanks to the extra hands. Thorin carried the majority of it, not letting her argue as he heaved a 50 pound bag of flour over his shoulder. Even the boys volunteered. It was a challenge to find a few things that were neither too heavy or fragile or delicious to trust the lads with, but she succeeded. They made it back to Bag End, and Bilba spent another hour teaching them where everything went, because there was a place for everything and everything had a proper place. 

And while her spice cabinet was not so precious, no one messed with Bilba Baggins’ pantry.

Not if they valued their hands. 

Thorin described a few more dwarven dishes and the adults did their best to recreate them, experiencing more than a little trouble due to the fact Thorin hadn’t cooked all that much in his life and Bilba was not used to using such a large amount of grease. But they hashed out something passable out and the boys couldn’t tell the difference. 

They had an eventful evening of charades, where none of the dwarves knew the game hopscotch, Kíli said a curse word not knowing what it was, Fíli nearly ripped out one of the Thorin’s braids, and Thorin had to pretend he was a fairy princess. 

T’was an evening to be remembered. 

But it came to an end as all evenings do, and after putting Fíli and Kíli as well as himself in a bath, Thorin retired. Bilba went to bed happy and comforted for the first time in days, knowing that there were at least some kind-hearted hobbits in the Shire. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Thorin woke to her scream.

He was in the hall before it ended. 

Sword in hand, he was prepared to slaughter whatever was in there, imagining what brutal acts he would do to the monster that would hurt Bilba. 

He blasted through the door, this time nearly ripping it off the hinges and certainly sending it slamming into the wall. His eyes swept the room. 

Nothing. No monsters or orcs or evil hobbits. 

Just Bilba shaking in her bed, crying. 

She gave a small shriek when he barged in, and was panting in shock. 

“Bilba?” he asked worriedly. She stared at him, fear and pain blurred by the tears in her eyes. 

“Beeeellll-bbaaaaa! BeelbaBilbaBulba!” Kíli squealed as the boys ran past Thorin’s legs. They jumped up to her and hugged her desperately, questions muddled by each other’s. “Aw you okay?” “What happened?” “We heard you scweam!” “We’ll pwotect you.” “Unca’ won’t let anyting hurt you.” “Do you want some water—“

“Boys,” Thorin quieted. 

Bilba was sitting up in her bed, one hand over her heart, the other over her mouth. Her soft curls were sticking out and mussed, and sweat beads dotted her forehead. Fíli and Kíli were on either side of her, clinging and clutching her in protective concern. Thorin sighed and lowered his sword. He approached the bed cautiously, not wanting to scare her, but Bilba stared with a lost look at the hills her knees formed under the blanket. He leaned his sword against the bedside table, and sat on the bed. 

He watched Bilba as her breathing, wet and ragged, began to slow. She seemed to begin remembering where she was, and gently placed an arm over each of the boys. Bilba looked up at him, confused and scared.

“We heard you scream,” he admitted quietly. She was silent for a few moments.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? No, it’s fine. What was that dream about? What scared you so?” he asked with concern, but rather thoughtlessly. She shrank away, melting into her pillow, but the boys held her close. She sighed painfully. 

“It was the Fell Winter,” she stated, her voice with an edged calmness. “Some decades ago, when I was a tween, a winter happened upon the Shire unlike any other.” She leaned back against her pillows, letting Fíli and Kíli lie down next to her. Thorin pulled himself up farther on the bed at her feet, sitting against the wall alongside the bed. “So many died....” The boys squirmed closer to her, and even Thorin got a shiver. “The crops failed. The river froze. It allowed wolves and orcs to enter our borders. We were not ready to defend ourselves at all.” 

The tears that had cooled on her cheeks were now met with rekindled drops of her sadness. 

“My mother and I were out hunting. My father was sick and we had to fend for our family. The wolves found us,” Bilba continued, and took a deep breath, “They attacked and my mother told me to run. She said she could fight them off. I didn’t believe her, so I stayed. And we fought together.” 

Thorin stared at the tiny woman, and couldn’t imagine what it must have been like. 

“We thought we were okay for a while, but then there was one I didn’t see coming and my mother…She took the bite. I killed the beast but my mother was bleeding out and couldn’t walk and I had to carry her back here and—“ her voice broke. Thorin bowed his head. “She nearly died because of me. That was all I could think. Even afterwards, after spring came, I just felt so helpless…,” she gulped. Her resisted crying made the words blur and slur but the feeling was there, and it was one Thorin knew well. “The wolves. They took so many of us during those months.”

And then she sobbed freely, uncontrollably, and the dwarves stayed close. This was their turn to take care of her.

Kíli got her a hankerchief. Fíli poured her a glass of water. Thorin stayed by her side and held her hand. 

Eventually there were no more tears to be had. The boys rested at her sides once more, and Thorin remained at the foot of her bed. She petted the boys’ heads gently, and the adults sat in silence for some time. 

“Your mother sounds like an extraordinary woman.”

“She was.”

He gazed over at her, her pale skin orange in the candle light, a tiny flame in her emerald eyes.

“If I may ask,” he began, “How did she die?”

Her eyes snapped to him with an accusing look. He averted his gaze and did not see hers soften.

“After my father died of sickness, my mother…I guess she died of a broken heart.” Thorin looked back to her. “She sort of lost a reason to live, I suppose. She just began to wither. By the end, she could barely leave her bed. I took care of her everyday but…” she sighed. “It was about a month before the anniversary of his death that I came to a decision. I realized there was no reason for her to stay in this world. So I told her it was okay. I told her she could let go. That she could go see Father again and be happy and I’d be alright and she could have a whole new adventure with him.” She blinked back tears. “I told her she could go on her greatest adventure, and this time Father would be with her. And you know what she told me?” she asked Thorin, a sad smile somewhere between humorous and desperate on her face, “She said she already had. That her greatest adventure had been marrying him and raising me and it was more than she could have ever asked for. My mother, Belladonna Baggins the great adventuress, said that her greatest adventure was the one she never had to step out her door for.” 

Bilba smiled, a large, proud smile, for her mother. She realized something then, that perhaps nightmares weren’t all bad. That, like dreams, they were a mind’s way of reminding you of what was important, even if it wasn’t pleasant. 

They reminded you of the things that were worth the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should have heeded my warnings.


	8. Sass and Crafts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin assaults Bilba.  
> Sort of.   
> Oh and the Tooks are in this one.   
> Consider this the closest thing you'll get to an apology for making some of you cry. Because I warned you.   
> But did you listen? No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And special shout out to elenorasweet for making adorable fanart. See it at archiveofourown.org/works/746872   
> I swear it was the only reason I got this done today. My self-motivation is terrible. Thanks!

Breakfast was a rather relaxed affair the next morning. The boys were cheerful as ever, and Bilba and Thorin watched them with fond, caring eyes. While they spoke little, both smiled the whole meal. 

Until Thorin opened his mouth. 

“I’m going to get a job in town.” 

Bilba looked up at him sternly from her cereal. 

“No.”

“Yes. It is the right thing to do. My boys and I will not live on your coin for the rest of our days—“

“Thorin, I told you there was no need—“

“There is. It is the honorable thing to do. I will work to support us and perhaps when I save up enough we can find a place of our—“

“You don’t like it here?” Bilba squeaked. Her eyes were wide with worry. Fíli and Kíli’s heads shot up from their food.

“Wha’? No! We love it here, Bilba!”

“Yes, Ms. Boggeens! It’s am-ama—great! Unca’ is lyin’!”

“I did not mean that, Bilba,” Thorin cut in, “Your home is wonderful and the days here have been some of the best I’ve lived. I simply wish to not be a burden.”

“You are no burden, Thorin Oakenshield. None of you are.”

“Even so, it would not hurt—“

“You should be spending time with your nephews!”

“Not at someone else’s expense.”

Fíli and Kíli watched the pair argue back and forth, the boys’ heads turning as each spoke like the adults were passing a ball back and forth. 

“So you want to just go work every day and leave us here?” 

“If you don’t want to care for the boys alone I can hire a sitter to aide you, like that Primula.”

“No! I mean I can handle the boys fine but you shouldn’t—“

“I’m getting a job, Bilba.”

“No, Thorin, really, don’t—“

“I’m getting a job.”

“No, you’re—“

“Job.”

Bilba stared at him in frustration, face going red. She snorted.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves,” she muttered. 

And the battle was won. 

\------------------------------------------------------

As the boys wrestled on the floor of the sitting room, Bilba read quietly save for the occasional chuckle at the characters. Thorin was shining his sword. They thought it best to have a day in, to rest from the physical and emotional strain that had occurred. 

At some point, Bilba turned to a rather dusty page, and sneezed. It was a short, high-pitched sneeze, rather like a kitten’s, and the dwarves peered at her with surprise and amusement. She blushed as she tried to press her curls back into place from where they were shaken. Thorin laughed. 

“You hobbits can be stirred by such tiny things,” he said, knowing dwarves could hang for hours in mines of coal and rock dust without once being uncomfortable. He lifted his hand and gently brushed a curl back from her face behind an ear, his thumb grazing the pointed tip. 

Which is when she suddenly slapped him across the face, her own reddening more than ever.

“Thorin! I can’t believe you!” she shrieked scandalized. The smack of her palm to his cheek had caught the attention of the lads, and they stared in shock at the woman who had just assaulted a famed warrior. “I mean really, I brought you in out of kindness but I will not be participating in any of THAT sort of nonsense. The ladies may be gossiping about us but I have no interest in proving them right so you can put all of that out of your mind right now!” She clamped her hands over her ears, glaring at him furiously. 

Thorin was still in shock. 

What just happened?

“Ms. Baggins…?

“Oh don’t you get polite with me! Where do you get the nerve? And in front of children! If that is okay by dwarven standards then I am sorry but it is certainly not appropriate in the Shire!”

Thorin stared at her dumb-struck and confused.

“What? What is inappropriate?” 

She glowered at him and huffed. Bilba quickly got up, brushed the book dust off her trousers, and left the room. He watched her go, stunned more than ever.

“I think she wants you to follow her, Uncle Thorin,” Fíli said. Thorin nodded briefly and sped off after the hobbit, to the kitchen. He found her angrily washing dishes, ire in her eyes.

“Ms. Baggins, I…I never meant to offend—“

“Well, you did.” She spun to glare at him. “How could you do that? We’ve known each other for just over a week and you’re trying to-to…” her voice trailed off and she turned back to the dishes. 

“To what, Bilba?! I don’t know what I did! Please tell me what it was that offended you so that I may apologize, because all I know is that I brushed your ear and you slapped—“

“SSHHHHHHH,” she hushed him loudly with a finger on her lips. “For Valar’s sake, Thorin, the boys!”

“What? What did I say that is so poisonous to their ears?” he asked in frustration. She glowered at him for a moment longer before her brow furrowed. She peered at him with confusion until it dawned on her. 

“Dwarves…Dwarves’ ears aren’t…sensitive, are they?” she asked quietly.

“Our ears? No, I mean we don’t terrible hearing but we are not known for—“

“I meant to touch.”

“What?” Thorin said in surprise, and then slowly, “No. Our ears are not sensitive. Are hobbits’?”

Bilba nodded, her face blushing slightly. She suddenly felt quite bad. She had slapped the poor man for something he did not understand!

“Ah, yes. Our ears are, well, um…”

“Why is it such a crime to touch them? Is it painful? Did I hurt you?!” he asked, jumping in concern. 

She gave him a firm look. 

“It isn’t a crime, Thorin. It’s just a private thing, only really appropriate for…couples. After marriage. Privately.”

She tried to stop her face from flushing but her heart was beating quite sporadically. Thorin peered at her oddly, but then his eyes suddenly widened with understanding, and he leapt back.

“Oh Mahal! I—I did not mean—I would never!” he nearly shouted, panicking.

“I know. I know,” Bilba assured him, putting a hand over her face, “It was my mistake. I thought it was the same for all races. I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“I’m sorry for-ah…” Thorin flushed as he tried to find the words. 

“It’s fine,” Bilba said, “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you tell the boys. Touching ears is a very inappropriate thing to hobbits. We can explain it to them when they’re older.”

Thorin nodded blankly, and walked back to his nephews who were waiting for him. This would be an awkward conversation. 

\-------------------------------------------

It was that afternoon when Bilba finally decided to help Thorin find a job. 

“Okay, tell me what skills you have before I start asking about dwarf stereotypes,” she said as she mixed the batter for some banana muffins as they stood in the kitchen. Thorin chuckled. 

“While I do not have the gift of mining as many of my cousins, I do have talent in forging.”

“Oh? What sort of things?”

“Well, my sword for one. I made it with my bare hands,” he said as he lifted the recently cleaned blade in his hands for her to see. He was quite proud of his sword. It had stayed with him for many battles. 

She looked at it with little other than boredom. 

“Do you have anything else you’ve made?” she asked. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is my weapon not good enough for the likes of hobbits? Is this a poor demonstration of my talent?” 

“Oh no, Thorin,” she answered with equal sass, “Haven’t you seen what hobbits are like? Their love for battle and bloodlust? Their long history of war and victory? No, you’re right, I’m sure they’ll all be overjoyed to have a new weapon-smith in town. Might just wet themselves.”

While the sight of a weapons forge might actually make a few hobbits wet their pants it was not for a reason she spoke of, and Thorin rolled his eyes.

“Thorin, please, understand this is the Shire. Most of the people here would not know a sword from an axe. If you want to show off your work, you’ll need something else. And you will need to show off some previous work or they’ll never hire you.”

Thorin thought for a moment.

“I made Fíli and Kíli’s hair clasps.” Bilba blinked.

“Those little clips? With those little insignias?” 

“Yes.” 

Bilba turned back to the dish for a moment. 

“Perfect.” A smile split across her face and she spun to face him. “This is perfect! The girls will love you!” 

“What?!” Thorin gasped.

“Have you seen hobbit hair? It’s unmanageable on a good day. Why do you think I keep mine short? Hobbit lasses have tried everything to make hairclips—even carving them out of oak, and they still break! If you can make them out of iron or steel you’ll be a hero.”

Thorin doubted that making useful hair tools would make him heroic, especially considering that hobbits did not seem to have as much care for their hair as dwarves, but the idea seemed true. Hair clasps could be a boon here. 

“What else do you have that we can show the Tooks?”

“The Tooks?” Thorin snapped out of his daydream. 

“Yes,” Bilba answered, “I sent a message with Hamfast after he left. We are going to Tookborough tomorrow morning to introduce you, and maybe get some business opportunity. The Tooks are more likely to buy from a stranger than any other hobbit clan, and the lasses have the craziest hair in the Shire!” Bilba was very excited now. It would be so amazing to show the Tooks what Thorin could do. The looks on their faces at metal clasps? That would be priceless. “I don’t suppose you’ve worked with wood much?”

“Actually,” Thorin cleared his throat, “My shield is wooden. Oaken. But I also bolted some steel ends to it for reinforcement.”

Bilba’s face lit up.

“Well that’s wonderful! You can win over the farmers with that. They usually use wooden tools but those break and crack in the winter. I bet they would love some iron work.”

Thorin smiled gently. He was a bit surprised by her sudden enthusiasm, but was glad for it. He would need her help to get this to work. 

“Does the Shire not have a smith to do that?” he asked curiously. Bilba tilted her head to think.

“Well, we did, but he died some decades ago. And he only ever did dainty things, silverware and little odds and ends. No one ever took it up after he passed. The forge was taken in by the Thain and it became a communal place if anyone wanted to try their hand, but hobbits aren’t really known for a talent with metal. The place is practically abandoned.”

“So no one will mind if I use it?”

“Not at all. Actually I think they would all be overjoyed. None of us can fix any of our tools so we usually have to buy new ones from Men. If you can make a good fix you’d be rich.”

They smiled back at each other. This could actually work. 

\-----------------------------------------------

After a night of no crying, screaming, nightmares, or fights, the four rose early. They ate a quick first breakfast, washed up, got dressed in a few nicer garments, and began the walk to Tookborough. They strode in a row, with Thorin to the far left with a box of his other works in one hand, and holding Fíli’s hand in the other. Fíli was holding Kíli’s hand, who was also holding Bilba’s, who was carrying a basket of scones in her right. She hoped they could reach Grandma Took’s Great Smial by second breakfast. Of course, the boys were not fond of walking.

“Can’t we ride a pony?”

“I’ve never gone so far without a pony!”

“Are we there yet, Ms. Baggins?”

“Will we get to ride a pony back?”

“Do the hobbits have ponies at their house?”

Thorin was about to explode, so he picked up Fíli in one hand and set him on his shoulders. Kíli looked like he might cry, so Bilba scooped him up and balanced him against her hip. The adults sighed, and walked on. 

\------------------------------------------

“Ready?”

“Are they like you?”

“Sort of.”

“Then no.”

Bilba rolled her eyes at Thorin. What a pansy. Afraid to meet her family. 

“Now remember, best behaviors, boys,” Bilba whispered to them outside the door to Grandma Took’s home. The lads nodded vigorously.

Bilba knocked on the door. 

It was short, light, but a sturdy rap, and was answered with a sing-song call of “Coming!”

And the circular lavender door pulled back to reveal Bilba’s Aunt Rosa. 

“Bilba! So good to see you! We were so excited when we got your note. And these must be your dwarves!” 

Both Bilba’s and Thorin’s eye brows jumped a bit at the phrase ‘your dwarves’, but neither said a word about it and just smiled. Thorin bowed and gave his usual greeting, which Fíli and Kíli repeated. Rosa cooed at the little ones. 

“Awww, how sweet! Well come in, come in, meet the family!” She took Bilba’s basket and led them through the smial, which to Thorin’s shock was even bigger and more complicated than Bilba’s. He gulped and squeezed his nephews’ hands. 

Eventually they were led down a hall that opened into an expansive dining room, which was filled to the brim with active hobbits. Thorin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. There were so many! Old ones, young ones, skinny ones, fat ones, and there were the same number of females as males! All talking and eating and playing and at the head of the table was a very old, but very powerful looking woman.

He took a deep breath. He heard Bilba do the same. 

“Everybody!” Rosa shouted over the madness. “Bilba is here! And she brought her guests!” Every head in the room snapped to them. There was silence. Then the old woman spoke calmly.

“Bilba, it is wonderful to see you. It’s been far too long. Would you mind introducing us?” she said in a serene but pleasant voice. Bilba gave a shaky smile and answered. 

“It’s great to see you to, Grandma. This is Thorin Oakenshield and his two nephews, Fíli and Kíli. They are friends of Gandalf’s.” There was some general murmuring at Gandalf’s name more than Thorin’s, but the dwarves gave their bows in sync, and the hobbits stared at them curiously. 

“Well, bring them down here and let me see them,” Grandma Took more or less ordered, and Bilba led them to her side, giving more than one reassuring glance. The dwarves sat to the matriarch’s left, the boys on Thorin’s knees. She studied them for a few moments and Bilba tried to not shake in her seat. 

Grandma Took looked at the lads, peering from one to the other.

“What’s your name?” Kíli spouted suddenly. Bilba’s breath hitched. 

The old woman smiled softly. 

“I’m Adamanta, little one. Would you like a cookie?” Kíli’s face lit up with an open smile. Adamanta grinned and passed one to each of them. “Why don’t you two go play with the other kids while I talk with your uncle?” The boys nodded and jumped off Thorin’s knees. 

The nearest children, Ferumbras (the third), Paladin (the second), and Esmeralda didn’t look at them for more than a second before smiling.

“You wanna play tag outside?” Paladin asked. Fíli and Kíli gasped in agreement and the five ran out of the room. 

Bilba and Thorin’s eye brows were at their hairlines. 

“Now let’s see here,” the old woman said turning back to Thorin, “Where are you from?”

Thorin gulped, “Far to the east.” Because that was really the only answer he could give that the hobbits would all understand. There were many more murmurs at this, some hobbits staring with wonder, others with suspicion. 

Adamanta raised an eye brow. 

“And why are you here?” 

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words. He floundered for a moment before Bilba swooped in. 

“They are in need of refuge. They were wrongly attacked by other dwarves and this was the safest place Gandalf could think of.”

More murmurings about Gandalf. 

“Attacked how?” Adamanta asked with concern. 

“They lit our house on fire. While the boys were in it,” Thorin said hoarsely. The hobbits gasped. Even Grandma Took appeared shocked and worried. “My sister, their mother, saved them, but she…” he shook his head. 

Adamanta put her hand on his. 

“I am sorry for your loss,” she said sincerely. “I’ll not ask why they did such a horrible thing—none of us will,” she said loud enough for all to hear. “We may not look like much, but we’ve had our own ups and downs. We’ll keep you safe. Welcome to the Shire.” 

Thorin gave a comforted smile. And the hobbits all smiled back. 

And Bilba remembered how to breathe. 

“Now let’s have breakfast!” Grandma Took declared, and all sat down to eat.

\-------------------------------------------

It was some time later, when Thorin came out of his food-induced coma, that Adamanta spoke to him again.

“Master Oakenshield, I was told you are interested in taking over the forge we have in town. Is that true?” 

“Oh, yes. Yes ma’am,” he answered rather groggily. 

“Adamanta is fine, dear, or Grandma Took. Anyway, I have heard a great many things about dwarven smiths, all being good. I would be very interested in purchasing something if you had an example of your work,” she said, glancing at Bilba who gazed back thankfully. Some of the other hobbits perked up too. 

“I would be happy to show you. Fíli, Kíli! Come here for a moment,” he called. The boys came rushing in from another room, where Rosa had been telling stories. “Would you two show the hobbits your hair clasps?” he asked politely. They smiled and quickly removed their clips, passing them to Adamanta, who looked quite impressed. 

“You made these?” she asked.

“Yes. They can hold quite a bit of hair and I can make them in most any metal,” he said as what seemed like every female in the Took clan leaned over each other to see the clips. There were a great many whispers and none of them bad. 

“I also welded metal tips to my shield. I know hobbits are not ones for violence but I believe I could repair your farming equipment quite well.” Some of the males hobbits peered at it and gave little nods to each other. 

Adamanta glanced back at him.

“Are you taking commissions, Thorin?” His attention snapped back to her. Orders? This was really working!

“Ah—yes! Yes, I would be happy to.”

For the greater part of the next hour he was writing down orders, all of which were paid half in advance, and he was rather stunned by the end. They stayed until dinner, when the kids were tuckered out, and began the walk home. From what Bilba had seen, the lads had made a great many friends, and she had heard wonderful things about Primula’s baby-sitting skills. But she had noticed Thorin looking like he’d taken a punch when he looked at his list.

“Is it a lot?” she asked quietly. Kíli was out cold in her arms, and she had left the basket with Rosa, practically an invitation for her to visit, as her children, Paladin and Esmeralda, had gotten along so great with Fíli and Kíli. Fíli was barely holding onto consciousness on Thorin’s shoulders. 

“No, well, perhaps to a normal smith it would be, but compared to when I worked in the villages of Men? No. I can have these done in a few days—if you’re okay watching the boys,” he clarified. 

“We’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “I can take you to the forge tomorrow and we can clean the place up.” 

“So how did the hobbits like us?” 

“Oh, they thought Fíli and Kíli were adorable. And I think the Tooks liked you quite well. I heard more than one lass talking about kidnapping you,” she chuckled. That old family joke had been around for generations. 

“What? How could—Why would they want to kidnap me?!” he asked. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Relax. They liked you fine, Thorin. And they’ll like you even more when you make those clips and fix the tools. You’ll be everyone’s favorite dwarf.”

“Favorite of three. I’m flattered,” he answered sarcastically. 

“Well, be careful. Kíli has got eyes like a puppy. Nearly had the lasses swooning. If those little clasps aren’t up to par then you are going to get knocked down a peg, my friend.”

“I’ll watch my back. Now tell me who this ‘Bullroarer’ Took was. I’ve heard so many stories about him today I could write a book. Did he truly kill the Goblin King and invent golf as a result?”

Bilba chuckled. 

“Well, all good stories deserve embellishment. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”


	9. Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Words Break My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Lobelia, who I have made an evil sadist because every story needs a villain.   
> And, of course, there is some comfort.   
> Prepare thy feels.

The next day the four of them set out to the old forge. The Thain (a Took) had given them the key and told them to do whatever they wanted. Of course, the first thing on the list had to be cleaning it. 

Thorin had to repeatedly shove the door just to get the wood to budge, and when he did dust exploded into their faces. It was like walking into an attic that hadn’t seen light in centuries. It was dark despite the windows, full of cobwebs and dust. Bilba sighed. It was going to be a long day. 

She employed Fíli and Kíli wherever she could, making games out of work. They were brave soldiers waging a war against the evil spiders, and had to destroy all of their fortresses. Their swords may have been feather dusters, but the boys took on the job with full gusto. It wasn’t child labor if they were enjoying it, right?

Thorin took the heaving lifting, moving and organizing the scrap metal and anvils around to how he liked. He was thrilled to finally have a forge that was his size. It had been a while. Bilba cleaned whatever was left, shining the windows and sweeping the floor. She skipped out for a few minutes to bring them back a large lunch, and when she returned it hit her how much they’d achieved. The forge was nowhere near pristine, but it was basically clean, and certainly usable. 

Fíli and Kíli were begging their uncle to teach them all the ways of forging and asking when they’d get to. Thorin was laughing and telling them they couldn’t until they were at least fifty-five. The boys were quite upset. 

But as Bilba watched the little family, which she felt that she was slowly becoming a part of, she smiled. 

“Everything’s coming up, Bilba,” she whispered to herself. 

And, of course, when they returned home that afternoon everything immediately went downhill again. 

“You INVITED her over?!” she yelled angrily at Hamfast when he told her the news. 

“She invited herself,” he mumbled in defense. Bilba stared him down. “I’m sorry, okay lass? I’m not fond of her either but you know how close she and my Belle are! And she was just said she’d come by and was off before I could stop her!” 

She put her head in her hand and let out a groan of annoyance. Hamfast muttered something about the tomatoes and skipped back outside to the garden, leaving Bilba stewing in her foyer. The dwarves cautiously leaned their heads in from the hall to see if she had murdered the man. 

“What was that about?” Thorin asked with a cocked eye brow. Bilba huffed. 

“Bloody relatives,” she answered, still facing the doorway with a scowl.

“So who is she?” he said. 

“She is Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” Bilba said, “And she is what people around here call a Hobbitch.” 

Bilba turned to look at him, and reddened when she saw the boys by his sides.

“But you must never ever say that to anyone!”

The lads seemed a tad disappointed, but wandered back to play since Bilba was calm. 

“You speak of her like she is an orc,” Thorin mused as the adults walked back to the kitchen.

“She may not wield an axe but she is certainly the bane of my existence. The woman is horrid, and fights through psychological warfare. She and I have been battling for years,” Bilba said bitterly between sip of her tea. Thorin chuckled. 

“While I now understand that you hobbits may be stronger than you appear, I highly doubt she is of much danger,” he gave a slight smirk. 

Bilba glared at him in all seriousness. 

“Was I unclear? The woman wages psychological warfare, Thorin. She gets inside your head and heart and churns you up until you either explode in anger or cry a flood. I’ve seen her reduce a man to tears in less than a minute. She is cruel, greedy, and manipulative. There is a reason I don’t regard her as family.”

Thorin watched her with skepticism. He doubted anyone could actually twist someone’s emotions as she described. 

“And how do you fight her?”

“I defend her victims, and embarrass her from time to time. We avoid each other as much as possible, which makes me curious as to why she just invited herself over here. But I have won most of our previous skirmishes. Her weakness is that she can’t understand most hobbits are inherently good-hearted. She tries to turn people against each other for amusement, but most just forgive whatever she has claimed another has done. It is fun to see her get frustrated.”

“Well, she sounds awful, so why do you allow her here?”

Bilba let out an angst-laced sigh.

“It’s proper hobbit behavior. If I don’t, she’ll run to every clan roaring about how rude and disrespectful I was. Best to just let her come over and say her piece. My weakness is that I can never pick the fight lest she use it against me. I can only insult her after she has said her own cruelties. That way she can’t say anything to anyone.”

“That sounds like an incredible waste of time,” Thorin said, “If she is truly as evil as you say, why don’t I just take her head and we can be free of her?”

Her eyes went wide as she gazed at him. She waited for a smirk of the joke to appear, but Thorin seemed to be actually considering the idea.

“W-what?” she stuttered. 

“You have saved me and my family from our deaths. The least I can do is behead your enemy for you,” he offered sincerely. Bilba didn’t move. She couldn’t think. “Would you like it framed or mounted?” he asked. 

“N-no, no! Don’t do that!” she scrambled.

“Why not?” he asked, legitimately confused. 

“It’s-it’s—it’s just not how we do things! We do not kill people we don’t like, Thorin! That’s horribly violent!” 

He shrugged, like killing was nothing. 

“So you just abide and tolerate her incessant suffering and do nothing?” he said, “Have hobbits no sense of right and wrong that they allow cruelty in their land?”

“What?! No! We do not allow cruelty! We just have a different sense of it, compared to you dwarves,” Bilba defended, “For us, killing sounds inherently awful, almost barbaric! We would never wish death on another. I just wish Lobelia would go away. Perhaps forever.”

Thorin smirked at her, his thick eye brows perking. 

“I could make that happen,” he offered. Bilba tried to hold back a smile, and failed. 

“No, you won’t,” she said firmly, still grinning. “Let me deal with Lobelia. Best if you and the boys just stay in your room as long as she’s here. I have no doubt Lobelia is here to find the new gossip, and that is most definitely you.”

“And you won’t give her the satisfaction,” Thorin’s grin grew as well.

“Certainly not. And won’t allow her to mentally scar Fíli and Kíli either.”

\------------------------------------------

Lobelia arrived at dinner.

Bilba had cooked early and sent the dwarves off to Thorin’s room. Oh no, they would not be subject to that witch’s torment. Thorin could end up being arrested for murder, and she couldn’t imagine the damage Lobelia could do to already-traumatized boys. 

Between the moment she left the dwarves to their own devices and when Lobelia knocked on her door, Bilba had a few quiet moments in her kitchen. She prepared herself; ran over quick one-liners in her head, every embarrassing thing the woman had done in the past year, and Otho’s drinking habits. She smiled to herself as she set out the plates. Whatever Lobelia brought to the table, Bilba had something to fire back. 

She didn’t like bringing out her mother’s fine china plates from West Farthing, but if she didn’t Lobelia would complain of rudeness and greed, and Bilba couldn’t have that. Still, she put a lock on the silverware drawer. So when she heard the shrew, quick knock at the door, Bilba believed she was ready. She took a deep breath, and strode to the round door and pulled it open. 

Standing with a clearly fake smile in a fine and frilly lavender skirt and pink blouse, her tiny sun-umbrella in one hand, a basket of burnt scones in the other, was Lobelia. 

“Lobelia,” Bilba greeted politely with an equally fake smile. 

“Bilba,” she answered with a nod. Bilba stepped aside and allowed her arch-enemy into her home. Lobelia walked directly to the kitchen and sat down in the finest chair. The table was already set and she heaped food onto her plate as Bilba joined her. 

“How’s Otho?” Bilba asked as she refused to make eye-contact. 

“Fine. He’s been working hard in his garden. We’ll probably win the tomato contest this year,” Lobelia said proudly. 

Fat chance. Bilba had won every year for the past decade, without Hamfast’s help, thank you very much. Nobody messed with her tomatoes. 

“That’s nice,” Bilba answered. 

“So how are you doing, Bilba? Keeping busy?” Lobelia asked with a knowing smirk. 

“Oh you know, this and that.”

“You mean this, that, and houseguests,” Lobelia said, skipping anymore pleasantries. 

The game was afoot, and the battle began. 

“You heard?” Bilba asked with (faked) surprised innocence. 

“Oh yes,” Lobelia said, and squinted at her cousin in law, “I hear many things, Bilba Baggins.”

“Like?”

“That they were dwarves,” she said with the utmost distaste, like when Thorin spoke of elves. 

“That would be correct.” Lobelia cocked an eye brow.

“And you are letting them stay in your house?” she asked with no small amount of shock. 

“Yes. They are friends of Gandalf. Very pleasant folks. One of them is going to be working in the forge in town.” Lobelia stared at her with poorly hidden disgust. 

“I also heard they were male.”

Bilba nodded, acting like this was a normal conversation with pleasant company, “Yes. There are two boys and their uncle.” 

Lobelia searched her cousin’s eyes, deciding what to say. 

Then she sneered, “So the respectable Bilba Baggins is sleeping with a dwarf. I should have guessed as much.” Bilba gasped in indignation. 

“I am doing no such thing!” Bilba roared, losing her composure, “I am helping a family in need!”

“Apparently they’re not the only ones who need help. You have been playing polite and respectable for too many years and now the whole Shire is going to know you’re completely mad! The Baggins family will never accept those coal-miners!”

“Lobelia!” Bilba shrieked and stood so fast her chair squeaked when it scooted back. She grabbed her mother’s plates off the table. No, this monstrous woman was not getting near her heirlooms. Dinner was officially over. Thank goodness Thorin wasn’t out here; he probably would have cut Lobelia’s head off for the miner comment.

“The Bagginses may hold to propriety but they have never turned away someone in need. That title only lies in the Sackville-Bagginses,” Bilba declared coldly, “Family has many meanings, and the dwarves are certainly mine!”

She turned on her heel and walked towards the sink to throw away the food. 

“Is that what you tell yourself because your parents are dead and no man wants you?” Lobelia replied smoothly. 

Bilba froze mid-step, and the plates slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor.

\-------------------------------------

Thorin jumped when he heard the smash. He was up and out of his room in a second, the boys right on his tail. He dashed so fast his hair whipped out in front of him when he skid to a halt in the doorway to the kitchen. 

The shrew of a cousin was sitting daintily at the table, but her eyes nearly popped out of her skull when she saw them. Thorin’s eyes snapped to Bilba, who was standing perfectly, impossibly still near the sink, her back to him with what he guessed had been plates laying shattered at her feet. His glare, colder than the heart of Azog, turned on the other hobbit. 

“So the rumors were true…” he heard her mutter. He nearly growled, and his teeth were already bared. It was a shame he had left his sword in the other room. Now he’d just have to snap her neck with his own hands. Fíli stared icily. His blue eyes might as well have been daggers, but he was as still as Bilba. Kíli was the opposite. He was almost foaming at the mouth, brown eyes fiery as the sun, his fists shaking with anger. 

But Thorin’s eyes flicked back to Bilba, and just saw the slightest tremor, a blink and he could have missed it. 

No, she was his first priority. He could always slay the witch later.

“Get out,” he ordered, his voice dark and low. A smug smirk crawled up Lobelia’s face. 

“Or what?” she asked, her tone dripping with false innocence. But it made Thorin flinch. Could he kill her? He would be tossed out of the Shire in a second just for laying a hand on her. He couldn’t do that to his nephews. But he certainly wanted to do it for Bilba. Whatever she had done to make the sweet woman still as a stone had to be evil. He hadn’t believed in ‘psychological warfare’, but he was beginning to. 

“Boys.” Thorin was seething, but even enraged he could think clearly. 

And while the hobbits could see him as a monster, no one could blame children for being…messy. 

Fíli and Kíli lit up like Gandalf’s fireworks, and dashed into the kitchen. Fíli grabbed the honey, Kíli snatched the sugar, and they turned on Lobelia with mischief glinting in their eyes. Hers widened, and she quickly stood up. They stomped towards her slowly, like a beast stalking its prey, until she was backing up in the direction of the doorway—and bumped into Thorin. She peered up at him, no small amount of fear in her face. 

“Get out,” he snarled, a scary, steely calmness overtaking him. She gulped, and scampered past him. They didn’t move until they heard the door latch. The boys set the sweets down, and the dwarves all glanced worriedly at Bilba, still unmoving by the sink. Thorin quietly stepped towards her, and gently rested his hand on her shoulder. 

“Bilba?” he whispered. He pulled back softly on her shoulder until she turned.

And he saw nothing but pain. 

Her eyes were brimming with tears and her lip quivered. Her green irises were glistening as they stared into his. He was almost taken aback. A lass as kind as she should not suffer like this. 

He soothingly took her hands in his, and guided her to the sitting room. She followed without resistance, but appeared completely absent. The boys quickly attached themselves to her, each taking a handful of her skirt. As Thorin pulled her to the couch Fíli and Kíli quickly jumped up to her other side, looking up at her with concern. 

“Bilba?” Kíli whimpered her name correctly for the first time.

And she broke. 

Bilba doubled over, face in her hands, and cried out. She sobbed loudly and wetly and the dwarves stared at each other in shock. What could they do?

“Stay here,” he told his nephews, and ran out of the room. She was still weeping, and the brothers wrapped their arms around her, side by side. 

“We’ll get her, Ms. Baggins,” Fíli said, trying to comfort her, but his own voice was growing shaky.

“We won’ let anyone ‘urt you,” Kíli agreed desperately.

She let out a gasping sob, choking on her dry throat. Thorin returned in a moment and got down on one knee in front of her.

“Ms. Baggins?” he asked quietly, lightly resting his hardened hand on her soft cheek, pushing it up away from her hands. Her face was reddened and her eyes puffed, tears flooding down her cheeks as she sniveled.

In his other hand he held a hankerchief. He lifted to her face and gently pressed, drying her tears. Her hands dropped, and she leaned unsteadily into the touch. They stayed like that for a few minutes; the only sounds were of her slowing sobs and the lads’ occasional whimper. 

When she seemed coherent he rose to sit next to her, and took her hands again. 

“Bilba,” he began. He met her eyes, still filled with anguish, and maybe a little shame. “I will end her.” Her eye brows jumped to her hairline.

“No! No, you can’t! Thorin, she is not worth it!” she cried out.

“She hurt you!” he bellowed back.

“Killing is not how we do things!” she exclaimed. 

“Then let me cut out her tongue and spare the world some suffering.”

“No!” 

“Why do you protect her?” he roared. These hobbits were insufferable! Why would they submit themselves to such cruelty?!

“It’s not her I’m protecting!” Bilba shrieked. In a second she seemed shocked by her own outburst, and retracted away, her head in her hands once more. 

Thorin’s eyes widened slowly, dawning with new understanding. He paused to think of a response, and found himself atypically caught for words. 

“Don’t worry about Lobelia,” she said huskily, “I can handle her. You just take care of your nephews and your forge.” She took the hankerchief from him and rubbed her face roughly. 

“What did she say?” he asked steadily. Bilba turned her gaze to the floor, wiping her eyes. “Bilba,” he almost pleaded, “What did she say?” Bilba’s lip quivered and she hung her head. 

“You have lost so many people you cared about, Thorin, but you still have your nephews,” she answered weakly, and turned back up to look him in the eye. “Me? I only ever had my parents, and they are long gone. I’m completely alone and have been since they died. All she did was remind me of the fact.”

Her statement hung in the air like smog, gripping Thorin’s lungs and hurting his heart. 

“You are not alone, Bilba Baggins,” he said and took back her hands as Fíli and Kíli snuggled closer as well. “We are here. And we are family.”

Bilba’s eyes widened and her lips hung open. The boys buried their heads in her sides and nodded voraciously. 

“We’ll never leave you, Bilba,” Fíli said. 

“Never ever, ever,” Kíli echoed. 

She slowly swiveled back to them, and wrapped an arm around the little brothers. 

Thorin agreed with them, his voice soft and low, “And of that, you have our word.”


	10. Breaks and Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really bad or graphic happens, but I'm paranoid about Triggers so there are a couple lewd comments and a guy grabs Bilba's skirt, and I suppose there is blood and violence if you count a nasty bar fight as blood and violence. 
> 
> But there's a happy ending. 
> 
> Sort of.

It took every ounce of Bilba’s willpower to convince Thorin to go to the forge the next day. After Lobelia’s rampage, he had no intentions of leaving her alone, and certainly not having to care for his nephews. But she insisted; he had orders to fill, the boys were no trouble, and she was fine. Just a bit bruised, really, if you wanted to make an analogy. 

So he set off that morning after first breakfast, intent on using some of the scrap iron in the forge to start the first few projects. Those would get him the money to buy more metal and work on the bigger ones. Thorin wasn’t too keen on being surrounded by hobbits without Bilba by his side to guide him, but she was sure that the only hobbits who would dare approach him would be the friendly ones. All of the far too proper people would give him a wide berth. 

Thorin opened the newly-clean forge with a small sigh. He had spent years over hunks of metal, toiling away for scraps to feed his family. Now he was volunteering. 

He realized he missed it. 

However painful it was to work under the eyes of Men, dwarves had a talent for metalwork. As a warrior prince, many of his duties were to kill and conquer, but it felt good to create. Like it was in his blood. Dwarves, however they might be described, were builders, through and through. 

Thorin set about his work, making hair-clasps and buttons, feeling like there was one less hole in his heart. 

\---------------------------------------------

Bilba had baby-sit before. She had watched over cousins and second cousins and even Hamfast’s first boy a few times. Everyone always spoke of how wonderful she was with children. She was patient, strong, kind, and stubborn. Kids loved her. 

Fíli and Kíli loved her. 

But Fíli and Kíli were tiny bundles of mischief and chaos. 

Bilba quickly came to believe that if the Valar were to create gods of either, the two lads would already be each incarnate. 

Within the hour of Thorin’s departure, Bilba started praying for strength. 

Neither of the boys held an ounce of malice, but they were completely impossible to corral. The two were inseparable, and if Bilba managed to get her arms around one, the other would immediately go into overdrive to free his brother. 

By second breakfast, her yellow blouse and green trousers were stained, scuffed, and torn. 

Dwarf children were something else. 

But Bilba did have one secret weapon. 

“Boys! Put that down or there will be no dessert!” 

And that was the end of that. 

After lunch, she decided that it was time to see what level the boys were at in their education. She sat them down with a book full of pictures and large print and asked them to read out loud what they could. They seemed to enjoy the story, and their Westron was decent. Bilba taught them the words they didn’t know and had them practice writing the letters. She knew that there was a dwarvish language, but she certainly didn’t know it. When that lesson was over, she turned to mathematics. That was where she was surprised. Fíli and Kíli had only learned the bare minimum of addition and subtraction. They didn’t even know how to carry the numbers. 

But the speed at which they learned? Stunning. By dinner they were multiplying by five and could solve basic algebra. 

She let them play afterwards, knowing that Thorin would be home before supper. She baked a large pie to celebrate the new business. Fíli and Kíli were wrestling on the rug when three hard knocks on the door boomed like thunder. They sat bolt upright and their faces lit up. The boys dashed for the door, jumping into a tackle when Bilba pulled it open. They hit Thorin full in the chest and he stumbled back with the lads in his arms. Between the laughter and shrieks of ‘Uncle! Uncle!’, Thorin carried his boys back into the hobbit hole with a smile he was trying to suppress. Bilba smirked at him.

“How was it?” she asked as she closed the door behind them. 

“Fine. I finished most of the clasps.” 

“Most of them?!” Bilba’s mouth hung open. Thorin set his nephews down and crossed his arms with defiance. 

“I am sorry I am not so gifted as to have completed all of them. I may be a dwarf but no one could have made so many orders in one day.” He huffed and Bilba’s brows furrowed with confusion. 

“What do you—No! I was impressed!” Bilba quickly discovered Thorin’s thoughts. “There were a ton of orders! I didn’t think you’d get through half of them.” 

Thorin glared with indignation.

“I did not realize you thought so poorly of my abilities,” he said lowly. Bilba widened her mouth to explain that no, that wasn’t at all what she meant, but Fíli beat her to it.

“Uncle! Stop et!” Fíli glared at his uncle who stared back, bewildered and wide-eyed. 

“She didn’ mean anythin’ by it!” Kíli squealed. Bilba gazed incredulously at the boys. She glanced back at Thorin, who seemed lost for words. 

“Supper?” she offered sheepishly. The brothers’ attention snapped back to her. 

“Yes!”

“Yay!”

And the two rushed to the kitchen, leaving a shocked Thorin and an anxious Bilba in their wake. The two stood in silence before a moment before Thorin spoke in quiet awe. 

“I am gone one day and you have already usurped their loyalty from me.” 

“Their loyalty lies with my cinnamon rolls, I’m afraid,” she added lightly. Their eyes met, and Thorin opened his mouth to apologize, but she gave an understanding smile, and he knew there was no need. 

“Come on. If we don’t hurry there won’t be anything left,” she said, and they went to try and scavenge what they could. 

\--------------------------------------

The forge’s business was impressive. Thorin had managed to get all of the smaller orders done by the next day, using the income to buy more metal. The Took lasses loved the clips and word of his talents was spreading. Brandybucks started popping by the forge, commissioning works or getting a gauge of prices. The farmers were very pleased with his plows, and more and more hobbits became complacent of the fact there was a dwarf in town. Thorin didn’t think he had met anyone named ‘Baggins’ yet (short of Bilba), but they could cross that chasm when they came to it. 

At the end of the week, Thorin had made a fine bit of coin, as the hobbits paid handsomely, and was negotiating with Bilba on how to spend it. She out-rightly refused to be paid any sort of rent fee, but he insisted on paying for food and clothing for him and his nephews. 

But with so much good work done, Bilba thought it might do to celebrate. Some time to relax from work and perhaps be away from the boys might be nice. 

Thorin, of course, had no desire to leave his nephews with someone he did not know personally, but Bilba vouched for Primula, and the next day asked the Brandybuck lass if she could handle the boys for a day. 

You would have thought she’d won the lottery with the way she reacted. 

Bilba left out the jumping and squeaking when she told Thorin the good news. 

And though she was a bit concerned for Primula’s sanity after experiencing the little terrors firsthand, Bilba had found no other sitter so highly recommended. So after first breakfast Thorin and Bilba set out, with Fíli and Kíli popping off questions as fast as their new companion. 

Their walk was leisurely, but reached Bree-land in just over an hour, Bree in less than a half. Thorin wore his more dwarfly royal blue tunic with soft brown trousers (and his boots that had been thoroughly cleaned), while Bilba wore a puffy green skirt with a white blouse and maroon jacket. The day was warm with a cool breeze and the adults chatted peacefully as clouds rolled slowly overhead. They encountered a few hobbits along the way out of the Shire, getting a few curious looks, but most just smiled and waved. When the first Men of Bree saw the pair it was quite a surprise; dwarves occasionally came through with business, but never with hobbits. 

Ignoring the jumping brows and stares Bilba and Thorin enjoyed their day in town. They shopped, ate a very hearty lunch, and Thorin took note of the village’s smith. 

Rather unimpressive, but he was just a Man. 

He reminded himself to start working on the locks for Bag End when they got back. 

Bilba looked at a few of the feminine stands, studying the new fashions of human women. She always found their jewelry a bit ostentatious, but their pearls were nice. Any clothes she liked were always too big; all she could ever fit was little girls’ dresses. Took girls would often try to recreate their clothes in smaller sizes, though the Bagginses much preferred traditional, more-modest hobbit clothing. And while Bilba liked human gowns, she could not think of a situation where she would ever need one. 

And their underthings were downright shameful. 

Bilba certainly couldn’t think of a time she would need any of those. 

\----------------------------------------

Primula was faring fairly well. 

Considering. 

She had baby-sat four Took children at once and had assumed she could take on everything after that. 

The dwarf brothers proved her wrong. 

She just hoped that Bilba would forgive her for feeding them all of the cinnamon rolls at once. 

Their following high had been a walk through Mordor, but the crash knocked them out so hard they had to take a nap before their lessons. 

And it gave her a chance to get the honey out of her hair. 

It surprised Primula how kind the lads were. They never fought like most brothers. Fíli always looked out for his little sibling, and Kíli followed him like a loyal soldier. They were clever, curious, laughed freely, and had the cutest puppy-eyes she’d ever seen. And that was saying something. 

She enjoyed her time with them, and was very happy for Bilba to get out of the house. Poor woman needed some time in the sun. And that dwarf wasn’t too bad either…

But these two would definitely have the Took and Brandybuck girls in fits when they got older. 

\-------------------------------------------

Dusk was just setting into Bree when Bilba and Thorin were finished with all of the attractions they had wanted to check out. She was ready to start the walk back when she noticed Thorin gazing at the entrance to the Prancing Pony. The inn had a tavern on the ground floor, and was very popular in the village. 

“Go on,” she goaded with a knowing smile. He glanced at her with surprise. 

“What? No, it’s fine, we should—“

“Thorin, we came to relax. A pint will probably help with that. It’s fine. I’ve got a cousin working at a stall nearby. I’ll go catch up with them and meet back here in a bit.” 

He smiled with a little guilt, but gave a curt nod and entered the tavern. She gazed warmly at the space he had just left, and went to find her old cousin. 

\-----------------------------------------------

The Prancing Pony was not that different from the taverns of Ered Luin, if not a tad better kept. 

And, of course, twice his size. 

The bartender cocked an eyebrow at him, but nodded to a corner of the pub, where lo and behold, everything was a perfect fit. A section of the tavern made just for hobbits. Well, maybe he was a little larger, but he was also alone, and he had plenty of extra space. 

He ordered one of the stronger ales, knowing a dwarf could out-drink a Man any night, and let the tension in his very bones soothe out. Thorin sipped his drink and found it delightful. When he set it down his eyes swept the pub, full of Men across the spectrum of drunkenness, a hobbit passing every now and again. 

And he realized he was very much alone. 

His shoulders slumped for more reasons than one and he stared at the foamy liquid in his wooden tankard. When he went drinking in the Blue Mountain it was never a lonely time. They went out to celebrate, to commemorate, and to drown their sorrows, but he and his motley crew of friends never went drinking on their own. Most had brothers or cousins or fathers or sons. Dis had gone out with them more than once, accompanying her husband, or more recently, Dwalin. 

Thorin took a hard gulp and tried to wash away the thought of the other dwarves, but they continued to attack his conscious mind. How was Dwalin taking her death? What would he have done in retribution? And in wake of a lost leader, what were all of the dwarves doing? 

Thorin stewed as the drink brushed away anger just for more to fill its place, and he drank until Bilba came for him. 

\-----------------------------------------

She stepped into the rustic tavern with a nod to the pub-keeper. He was a friend to the hobbits, one of the few to employ them outside the Shire and to make size-wise accommodations for them. The Man kept an eye out for the smaller citizens and was one of the few welcomed in Hobbiton. Bilba still stepped lightly; the tavern had a tendency to hold unsavory characters. 

“Well, hello lass,” a low, slurred voice practically growled at her. She caught her breath, but glanced to her right to give a brief smile at the two Men in the booth next to her. 

Moving to pass them, she gave a brief “How do you do?” and searched for Thorin rather frantically. She spotted him a second later in the Hobbit Corner, just down the line of booths, when the Man called at her again. 

“Why don’ you come and give us a kiss, pretty thing?”

Bilba felt the pull on her skirt just as her eyes locked with Thorin’s. The Man had a vice-gripped handful of her skirt, and she had nowhere near his strength. Her heart beat was like a humming-bird’s and her whole chest felt tight. She could feel the hair on her neck bolt upright as a shiver went down her spine. She swallowed hard, and her tense form would appear stoic if not for her horrified eyes. 

Thorin didn’t even feel himself move until he had two arms around her waist and was ripping her from the Man’s grasp, putting himself in between them. Bilba’s eyes snapped to the bartender, who was equally tense, but even he couldn’t take on the other Man and his friend. 

“What the Valar is this thing?” the Man snarled, and Thorin clenched his fists as his lips curled upward. The Man stood up, towering over Thorin, as did his pal. “Move, half-pint, and we’ll get your wench back to ya by morning.”

Thorin saw the glint in his eye, the thick muscle of his arms, and the crooked smile he wore as his eyes flicked to Bilba. 

And Thorin saw red.

\-----------------------------------------

“Thorin! Thorin, stop! Please, stop, STOP!”

Thorin woke from his trance, finding himself standing over the Man, the bastard’s face badly beaten and dripping red. The dwarf’s knuckles were torn and aching, but the blood on them wasn’t just his. He gasped, swallowing hard as he looked around. The Man’s friend was lying unconscious a foot away, a red-stained tankard lying next to his brutalized face. The Man who leered at Bilba was unmoving, barely conscious, his head dangling from Thorin’s grip on his tunic. He glanced over his shoulder and found Bilba, her arms wrapped around his raised one, holding him back. Her eyes were worried if not terrified, and nearly tearful. Her shriek had broken his rage, and he felt a cold pit form in his belly as his chest tightened. 

“Bilba, I…” he stuttered as he dropped the assaulter. She looked back at the bartender, who gave a quick nod towards the door. Plenty of the other patrons were staring in amazement and fear. She pulled on him and he relented, letting Bilba tug him out of the bar. She guided him down the dark street to a small stable, and dashed in for a moment. He wanted to follow, not leave her alone, but he just gazed at his knuckles, calloused and hardened and red. 

What had he done?

She was back in a moment, a sleepy stable boy leading a horse and cart with him. Bilba paid him and ushered Thorin onto the cart’s seat, her following with the reigns. They left Bree quickly, and did not look back. She had barely met his eye since the bar, and he tried to not tremble. Thorin crossed his arms, tucking his hands against his sides. He swallowed the pain. They had made it out of Bree-land without speaking, and Thorin was happy to wallow in it, but Bilba broke the silence. 

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. He shut his eyes and huffed in response. “Thorin,” she whispered, almost pained. She dropped the reigns into her lap, and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me see them.”

He pulled away gruffly, but even in the little light he saw the pain in her eyes, and relented. He brought out his hands, and she gasped. The thick red liquid gleamed in the moonlight, his skin torn and bruising. His fingers trembled slightly until he rested them on his knees. She didn’t try to touch him.

“Oh, Thorin…” she sympathized. 

“I’ve had worse,” he said hoarsely. She looked at him, green eyes searching blue, and took up the reigns again. He glared forward, refusing to meet her eye. He didn’t know if it was out of anger or fear. 

Nothing more was said on the trip. 

\----------------------------------------

When they arrived back at the smial, Primula was waiting for them, the boys already in bed. 

“Thank you so much, lass,” Bilba said to her as Thorin brushed past them to the sitting room. She handed Primula the coins. “I hope they weren’t too much trouble,” she added, noticing how the girl’s hair stuck out oddly. 

“Oh, they’re lovely. Little energetic, but you know,” Primula said sweetly. 

“I certainly do,” Bilba grinned. “I can walk you home now, it’s getting late.”

“Oh no, that’s fine. Drogo is walking me back,” she answered, her face splitting into a smile.

“Drogo? Drogo Baggins?” Bilba spluttered, “My cousin?” Primula bit her lip and nodded. “I see. So how long has he been…walking you home?” Bilba asked with a conniving smile. Primula blushed hard and fought her grin. 

“Just a few times. He’s waiting at the end of Bag Shot row.”

“Well you better not keep him waiting,” Bilba smirked. A Baggins and a Brandybuck? 

Wow. 

Primula nodded fervently and pranced out the door. Bilba shook her head as she closed her round door behind the teen. Drogo was one of the more open-minded Bagginses, but she had never imagined him and Primula. But they would make an adorable couple. 

Bilba sighed. There was still a dwarf with busted knuckles in need of medicine. She strode to the kitchen, getting a bowl of water, a few rags, and some bandages. Tip-toeing to the sitting room, she peered in to find Thorin leaning over, arms resting on his thigh with his palms up, relaxed. The fire was low but lit the room enough for her to see his grim expression. She moved to sit on his right, knowing that hand had taken the most beating. 

Or dealt it out, depending on how you looked at it. 

She reached for him cautiously, and as expected, he pulled away. 

“Please let me help,” she pleaded quietly. He glared at the fire for a moment before turning his gaze on her. 

“I do not need help,” he growled defensively, “Least of all from a foolish lass that wanders into a bar when she cannot defend herself.”

It was a knife to her heart. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, quivering. How could he say that? How?! After everything they had…She began to rise from her seat, cheeks warming as she felt tears coming on. 

NO! A voice roared in her head. Her mother’s. 

Her grip on the bowl tightened as she glowered back at him from her seat. 

“Don’t you dare blame me for that, Thorin Oakenshield,” she hissed, “Don’t blame me for your own actions.”

“I would not have had to act if—“

“If I had not HAPPENED to walk past a drunken bloke with grabby hands?! That was completely by chance and while I am incredibly grateful that you tore me away—believe me, I am—thrashing those Men to the bone was your choice!”

The two stared at each other with hardened faces and barely contained tempers. Thorin was somewhat shocked at her outburst, and tried to ignore the guilty feeling creeping up on him for what he had said. Bilba watched him, nostrils flared, waiting for him to answer. 

He opened his mouth, and barely above a whisper said, “Please do not throw us out.”

Bilba blinked in confusion. 

“W-what? Thorin, I would never…Why would you think that?” she asked tenderly, the angered fire extinguished in a second. 

“Hobbit men do not beat others to pulps for Hobbit women,” he said quietly, hanging his head. She gazed at him solemnly, finally understanding. 

When she watched him attack those Men it had been a bucket of cold water on her. As dangerous as he had always appeared, as horrible his words towards Lobelia, she had never seen him truly violent. Even hobbits could say violent words (she had thought of plenty towards Lobelia) but seeing him actually fight was frightening. 

Not just to her. 

Because all she had tried to do was teach him how to act ‘proper’ so that the hobbits would accept him and his boys, but hobbits were the last creatures on earth to resort to violence. Of course he was scared. What would happen if the halflings found out? His nephews had just found a safe place, and he had gone and ruined the chance, as far as he knew. All for some woman he had met just a few weeks prior. 

Though if the choice was doing it all over again or doing nothing, he would have gladly repeated himself. 

But he still wished he could change the past. What had come over him? He had acted without thought or foresight, out of anger and-and…

What else? 

He had learned to at least have control over his anger in the physical sense. He hadn’t lashed out with his fists in over a century, so it couldn’t just be rage. 

Protectiveness? Loyalty? 

Females were rarer in dwarves than other races, was it just instinct? 

“Hobbit men do not have the power to,” Bilba said and her calm voice pulled him out of his head. “Thorin, what you did may not have been normal by hobbit standards, but not by our decision. We’re a small race, and we don’t even have the strength of you dwarves. That’s why so few ever leave the Shire. We aren’t much for fighting beyond words.” She gazed at him and he watched, stunned, as a gentle smile crept up her face. 

Was that a blush?

“Thank you for saving me, Thorin. It was a very noble act. No hobbit would speak lowly of you for it.” 

Lobelia would, but she would speak lowly of everything. 

“And I would never throw you out,” she said as she rested her hand on his, taking care to avoid the blood. 

His eyebrows peaked with uncertainty. Was all that true? After everything that had happened, his outburst, the way she had stared at him so fearfully, would she still stand by him?

“Thank you,” he replied hoarsely, rather shocked. She smiled again, and picked up his hand. Bilba soaked one of the rags and gently placed it against his knuckles, cleaning what she could. The hot water stung slightly, but he refused to show it. When the skin was clean she wrapped the bandages around it softly. He may not like admitting to pain, but wounds hurt. “I’m sorry,” he said before she repeated with his other hand. She glanced up with mild surprise. 

“It’s fine,” she reassured, “Just watch your tongue around the boys or Fíli and Kíli might really turn on you.” He gave an uneasy smile as she rose to put away the supplies. When Bilba returned to the sitting room Thorin was waiting for her, looking up with his mouth slightly opened like he was about to say something. She tilted her head, waiting. 

“Let’s never leave the Shire.” He had meant to say something deep and meaningful, but came up with nothing but a bad joke. She blinked for a moment before getting it. She chuckled. 

“Did the King Under the Hill just make a joke?” she answered. 

“Yes. And let’s never speak of it again.” He rose from his seat and they wandered back to the bedroom hall. When they reached his room his mind screamed for him to say something, but all he could manage was a polite, “Good night, Bilba,” and went to bed, cursing himself. 

After changing into her nightclothes and crawling into bed, Bilba thought of all that had happened. They certainly wouldn’t be going to the Prancing Pony again, but the bartender could probably make sure no one came looking for them. But holy Valar, what had gotten into Thorin?

There was something flattering about having a man beat another into a pulp just for laying a hand on her, but she tried to ignore it. Thorin had gone crazy. 

Well, in his situation anyone might have. He lost his sister because he wasn’t there to protect her. He wasn’t the type to repeat mistakes. 

All the stress and rage from what had happened had just bubbled up and exploded. Hopefully he had let it all out, but Bilba knew that was unlikely. 

But as hard-headed, emotionally-constipated, and broken as Thorin was, she still felt safer with him by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, there was some curiosity in the comments about the other members of the Company.   
> All of the other dwarves are still in Ered Luin, and are all fine(ish, considering). 
> 
> We may meet them in a bit.   
> Like in 2-3 chapters.  
> But you didn't hear it from me!


	11. The Battle of Bag End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence!  
> But not really!  
> Romance!  
> But not really!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I gave into my inner-shipper and wrote a whole chapter practically devoted to Bagginshield.  
> Next chapter should be mostly about Fíli and Kíli in their brand new lives, though they aren't shipped together in this fic. Don't worry, I do have plans for them though.  
> Enjoy.

“You need to learn how to fight,” Thorin said during first breakfast. 

“What?” Bilba half-laughed as Kíli and Fíli perked up.

“You are a very clever woman, Bilba,” Thorin said, and the hobbit lass grew a proud smile, “But last night reminded me that not all problems are solved by a sharp wit. Imagine if a dwarf came looking for us, and found Bag End while I was at the forge. You need to learn how to defend yourself.” 

Bilba stared at him with a cocked eyebrow and skeptical look. 

“And you’re to teach me?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Yes. Do you have a sword?” 

“I do. My mother brought back one from her travels. She never named it though. Actually,” Bilba flushed sheepishly, “It’s not really a sword. It’s an elvish letter opener, but it fits. Oh, and it glows blue around goblins and orcs.” 

Thorin’s face had grown a distasteful frown as she spoke, scowling at his food.

“I did not know your mother was a friend of elves. Perhaps I should forge you a new sword. Dwarves are much better metal-workers than elves,” he said, growling the last word. Bilba fixed him with a flat look. 

“Thorin, the sword was a gift and is perfectly fine. And if you insult my mother’s taste in friends I will lock you outdoors where you can sleep on the bench while I teach your nephews Sindarin.”

“You wouldn’t.” Thorin’s eyes widened.

“You’re the one who said I was crafty and sadistic. Want to put it to the test?” she smirked. Thorin huffed angrily. 

“Fine. You may use the elvish blade.”

“Can we learn sword-fighting, Uncle?” Fíli asked, his big blue eyes begging. Thorin smiled fondly at his nephews. 

“When you are older, boys. It is a dangerous art. I’d prefer you get a little more upper-body strength before I put a pillar of metal in your hands.”

“Can we learn Sinduhren then, Uncle?” Kíli bit his lip with puppy eyes. Bilba beamed and smirked at Thorin.

“No. Never.”

\---------------------------------------------------

They started with the basic movements. In Bag End’s backyard, away from prying eyes, Thorin demonstrated swipes, parries, blocks, and strikes with his dwarvish sword and Bilba repeated with her elvish one. Thorin noticed the leanness of her arms and realized she probably couldn’t have lifted a dwarvish sword, but saw no reason to mention it. 

At first, Bilba seemed to be a very weak learner. Her strikes were jagged and chopped, her blocks were never angled correctly, but when they began tentatively sparring, it was like she was born with a talent. Her reflexes were remarkable, and what she lacked in strength she made up for in speed. She defended more than attacked, but was so light on her feet that she could wear someone out just by keeping them busy. Thorin was impressed, but still didn’t mention it. 

After a sparring session that left Bilba panting and both with sweat on their brow, Thorin leaned his sword against a tree to show her a particular move she was having difficulty with. He was trying to teach her how to get another’s sword locked in the hilt of her blade, but she had trouble holding it. His sword kept slipping free and he could have easily cut her. 

“Come here, you need to hold it like this,” Thorin ordered, standing behind Bilba while putting his arms around her and his hands over hers on her blade. His large hardened hands completely enveloped her delicate soft ones. She was tense at first, but they swept through the motions, his feet on the outside of hers, guiding her. It was like a dance, stepping together in the quiet music of chirping birds and light breezes. They swayed as one, the sword an extension of themselves. It wasn’t until he twisted the blade to disarm their nonexistent enemy that he actually noticed how close they were. Both in trousers and light tunics that were partially sweated through, his face enflamed at the situation he had accidentally put them in. 

“Good, good, try it again,” he said, breaking away quickly. Bilba didn’t seem to notice his flushed face and ran through the motions. He grabbed the jug of cold water they had brought out and drank hastily. What had he been thinking, getting close to her like that? It was horribly improper!

But no one could see them. So why was he embarrassed? He was only teaching a friend how to defend herself. Simple stuff. Nothing odd about it. Nope. 

He swallowed hard. What was happening to him? 

He turned back to the yard. Fíli and Kíli were playing tag not far off, occasionally stopping to chase some poor squirrel, their long hair billowing out behind them. He could hear their laughter and squeaking from afar, and he was glad for it. They were starting to be more and more like normal, happy children again. They would need to know how to protect themselves as soon as possible, Thorin knew that, but he also didn’t want to spoil their innocence any sooner than he had to. It was already pretty spoilt, but the longer he could keep them as cheery kids, the better he felt. And they had the chance to last that way for a while, all thanks to Bilba. 

Dammit! Why couldn’t he stop thinking of her?

He looked back at where she was practicing. The sword did fit her, small and smooth and lean. It nagged at him how elvish she appeared, but at least she was his height. And her feet had the thick skin of a dwarf. 

Wait, why did he care?

He scowled to himself. This was getting ridiculous. 

Bilba was trying her parries again, her steps precise and quiet. Even in the grass she barely made a sound. Her curls were wet with perspiration, sticking to her forehead as they shined in the sunlight. Her emerald eyes were focused and steady, her lips in a fine line of determination. He sighed to himself. 

She would never be a fighter, but at least she would be able to fight. 

That would have to be enough. 

\------------------------------------------

“Just let me cut off a few of her fingers.”

“I said no, Thorin.”

It was a big day, for many reasons. 

Well, two really. 

The Bagginses were coming for dinner to meet Thorin and the boys. 

Lobelia was among them. 

“Her tongue then.”

“Must I take your sword?” 

“No. I could easily use the bread knife.”

Bilba sighed to herself as she lifted the scones out of the oven. What was with dwarves and senseless violence? 

She pranced over to the boiling pot on the stove, letting out some of the steam. Thorin was helping cook too, though only hobbit recipes. He was frying the meats on the stove next to her, and it smelled wonderful. Even the boys were helping, mixing batters and salads. They were repulsed by the green food. 

“I told you, absolutely no violence in front of the Bagginses. Just be polite and stay with the men. I’ll convince my grandmother you are alright and all you need to do is give a bow. And keep the boys in check, of course.”

“That is an adventure in and of itself.”

“Oh please,” she said and rolled her eyes. Bilba walked over to where the boys were stirring the cookie batter. “Boys?” The looked up at her expectantly and she leaned down to smile at them. “I know this is not going to be fun but tonight you two need to be on your best behavior. No running or screaming or wrestling.” The boys’ faces fell and Kíli’s lip began to quiver. “You need to keep your clothes clean, use your manners, and only speak when spoken to, understand?” They nodded glumly. “Good. Tomorrow I’ll make a whole batch of cinnamon rolls, all for you. Deal?” Their heads snapped up and beamed so fast Bilba almost got whiplash. Fíli and Kíli agreed vehemently and went back to stirring with new vigor. She gave a smug smile at Thorin, who rolled his eyes in response. 

“You know they will be small hurricanes tomorrow if you follow through on that,” he said quietly as she moved back to his side. His low voice was half-humored at her expense, half-pitying. 

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to go to the forge tomorrow,” she answered with a smirk. 

“You planned this,” he muttered. His voice continued to shock her with its low baritone. She had never heard anything like it. It distracted her for a moment. 

“Always plan ahead,” she said, hoping that it didn’t seem too quick. 

They continued to cook for most of the morning, only stopping to wash the kitchen and then get their own baths. Separately, of course. 

\-------------------------------------------------

The Bagginses are a punctual family. Never late, never early, always on time. It’s one of the many reasons they hate adventures. They make you late for dinner, as one Belladonna Took proved time and again. 

But this gave her daughter the knowledge of how to expect the clan to arrive. 

All at once. 

Bilba held the door open as her relatives (most of whom she counted as family) poured in, speedily greeting each one in turn. They filed into the kitchen, overflowing into the extra dining room. There were small children, all dressed perfunctorily proper. They were smiling and happy and well-behaved. The adults were polite and civil, and the elderly calm and gracious. Many of the Tooks thought the Bagginses were cruelly proper and high-strung, but Bilba knew them as kind folk, who just liked normalcy. 

Of course, Lobelia and her mother Camelia were likely where the Tooks got the idea from, which was quite sad because neither were actual Bagginses. Both were married in. She greeted them with a practiced smile and was met with two of their own. Lobelia grew a knowing smirk as she turned away, but Bilba tried to ignore it. This was too important.

The Bagginses family had begun (as far back as anyone bothers to recall) with Balbo Baggins and Berylla Boffins. They had Mungo (Bilba’s grandfather), Pansy, Ponto, Largo, and Lily. Mungo and Ponto had the largest families, with Largo a close third. The three had since passed away, leaving their widows as leaders. Mungo’s wife, as the spouse of the eldest sibling, became the family matriarch. The Bagginses from far and wide looked to her, and now they were all in her granddaughter’s smial. 

There were Bilba’s aunts Belba and Linda, her uncles Longo and Bingo. Her second cousins Rosa, Polo, and Fosco, and her cousins Otho, Odo, Falco, Posco, Prisca, Dora, Drogo, and Dudo. She was older than all of her cousins, Drogo being the youngest and still a teen. 

Last but certainly not least, was Laura Baggins. Never called Grandma Baggins, she was Lady Baggins, or Mistress Baggins, or Mother or Grandmother. Mungo’s widow and now family leader, with grayed hair, light blue-gray eyes, and a soothing voice, she was a noticeable figure. 

“Grandmother,” Bilba said with a curtsey. 

“Bilba,” Laura replied with a pleasant smile. “You are looking well.”

“So are you.”

“Your father was such a flatterer. Passed down, has it? Well I’m glad. Now I hear you have some guests I should meet,” she said as Bilba led helped her to the dining room. Laura sat at the head of the table with a free seat on her right for Bilba, who was running back to put out more food. The clan was spread out, the women taking up the dining room while most of the men rested in the kitchen. Children usually went with their gender as well. 

Lobelia seated herself a few seats down the table, not in easy place to make conversation with the matriarch but close enough to hear any conversation. 

“So where are these gentlemen?” Laura asked pointedly. Bilba gulped. If she already knew they were male, what else had she heard? Had Lobelia gotten to her? 

“Right, ah, Thorin?” she called, “Could you and the boys come in here for a moment?”

The dwarves were in the archway in a moment, an entire table of hobbit women staring curiously at them. Fíli and Kíli stared right back in slight awe, eyes darting around at all of the curly haired lasses. 

“Thorin Oakenshield,” he said with a deep bow that had his hair flopping down, “At your service.” His deep voice reverberated through the room, and most of the halflings leaned back like it was a wave. Their wide eyes watched him closely with new surprise. 

“Fíli!” the little blond at his side peeped up, and most of the ladies had small gasps. 

“And Kíli,” his brother added, and the lasses pursed their lips at the cute child.

“At your service!” they said and bowed in unison. The many ‘awww’s were audible. 

“Laura Baggins,” Bilba’s grandmother replied politely. “At yours and your families.”

A number of things surprised the hobbits. They had heard of dwarves as scary, short Man-like people, greedy and uncaring, but this family seemed anything but. Thorin had a concerned hand resting on each of their shoulders, and the boys beamed up at the ladies with innocent sweetness. They weren’t dirty miners, in fact they were spotless! Even their hair (which they had quite a bit of on their heads, but not on their quite tiny feet, which was a bit unnerving but it’s not like they could control that) was shining. And their clothes were hobbit-y! Not leather or metal but soft cotton-wove. The younger dwarves’ waistcoats were adorable while their uncle’s was firm and showed off his strong upper body. 

Which was another thing. 

Scarily strong looking, and certainly unusual by hobbit standards, but not…bad. 

“So where are you from, Master Oakenshield?” Laura asked. 

“Far east,” he answered automatically. There were some general murmurings, hobbits muttering gossip into each others’ ears. 

“And why have you come here?” she asked calmly. 

“Seeking refuge,” he answered slowly, swallowing his pride and making Bilba proud of him all at once. 

“From what?” Lobelia asked with well-faked innocence. Bilba saw Thorin’s nostrils flare at the woman, but otherwise he didn’t react. 

“There were some other dwarves who…wanted to punish myself and my nephews for the crimes of our fore-bearers. They attacked us in the night and we fled. The Gray Wizard brought us here.”

At the mention of Gandalf, Laura cocked her eyebrow at her granddaughter, who gave a sheepish smile in response. 

“I’m sorry for your suffering,” the matriarch said sincerely, “But let’s talk of better things. And eat.” 

The meal was warm and delicious, with all the families contributing. Some sat in one place and others moved around, the Baggins clan enjoying its small reunion. The dwarves were introduced to nearly every individual, and were the picture of politeness. Thorin was calm and well-spoken, and the boys were sweet and quiet when needed. 

After the main course (but before desert, and there were two of those) Thorin stepped outside to have a smoke. He had bought a pipe in Bree, slightly large and thicker than most hobbit smokers’, and was happy to find a little privacy in Bilba’s backyard. The family wasn’t as scary as he had expected, not strict and cruel, just preferring etiquette, like the nobles of Erebor once had. Not a hard adjustment really. 

“Mind if I join you?” a young voice startled him out of his thoughts. Thorin looked up from his seat on the bench to find Bilba’s cousin Drogo peering with slight curiosity at him. Thorin merely scooted over in answer. The boy, well, teen, sat down next to him gingerly, bringing out a small pipe of his own. “How are you doing?” he asked. 

“I’m quite fine. Yourself?” Thorin replied neutrally. 

“Good, I’m good. You don’t need to pretend, though. I know the family can be a bit to take in all at once.” Thorin shrugged. 

“Are you the boy who walked Primula home?” he asked bluntly. Drogo reddened and coughed on his smoke. 

“I-I…yes,” he admitted quietly. Thorin raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you ashamed of her?” he asked with mild suspicion, furrowing his brow. The girl was wonderful, what right did this boy have to not be proud of her?

“No-no! I’m not, it’s just…” Drogo bit his lip. “The Baggins and Brandybucks are different. Very different. My parents have always been ones for propriety and her father nearly ran over the last caller she had with his cart. We just want to take things slow. We didn’t think anybody would notice…How did you find out?”

“Primula told Bilba.” 

Drogo’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. 

“Why-why would she… How could she…?” he stuttered.

“Perhaps she thought she could trust Bilba,” Thorin said, “Her being the child of a Took and Baggins, after all.” 

Drogo’s head tilted a bit as he thought about it. 

“Oh, oh yeah she is…No one stopped them, did they?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Thorin agreed, “But I heard they faced some opposition.”

“Yeah,” Drogo bit his lip again, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” 

Thorin cocked an eyebrow. 

“Would anyone believe me if I did?” he answered dryly. Drogo chuckled. 

“Perhaps not,” Drogo paused as a grin crept up his face, “Like they wouldn’t believe me when I told them about the love-struck dwarf.”

Thorin’s head snapped to him with wide eyes, face filled with consternation. Drogo smirked. 

“Oh I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“I do not stare at Bilba!” Thorin said indignantly, “And I am certainly not lovestruck!”

“I never said you stared, Master Oakenshield. You just look at her longer than anyone else, and turn away just before it would be considered staring. Of course, most would chock it up to her taking you in and all, but I know that look.”

“Do you now?” Thorin growled. 

“Oh yes,” Drogo said gleefully, “It’s the same way I look at Primula. Like she is so sweet you don’t want to leave her side, but she’s also kind of scary and you don’t want to let on just how much you like her.”

Thorin snorted.

“How about this,” Drogo relented, “Why don’t we just keep each other’s secrets?” He peered hopefully at the dwarf, who glanced back with a dark smile.

“Or I could just tell both of your parents about your relationship and break your bones if you said a thing about me or Bilba,” he replied with evil joy. Drogo leaned back in serious fear, until he noticed the laughing smirk on Thorin’s face. 

“Not funny…” he muttered.

“Oh I think it was very merry, Master Hobbit,” he answered, standing up, “Now we should get back before they start looking for us. I still have a reputation to uphold.”

Drogo snorted at that, but entered the house with a new friend. 

\-----------------------------------------

Bilba was enjoying the party. She hadn’t spent much time with her Baggins cousins since her father’s death. They were a sweet bunch. There were a good few her age and always happy to gossip. Bilba found herself laughing more than once. 

She was sitting in the dining room with the younger crowd, while Laura and the other elders had moved to the sitting rooms. She had been swapping funny stories when she caught a piece of Lobelia’s conversation, the woman talking unnecessarily loud. 

“—just don’t know if I trust them,” she said, her face full of rehearsed concern. “Have you heard the stories about dwarves? Their wars and greed?” 

The hobbits sitting around shook their heads, enraptured by her words. Bilba had since stopped talking, and those she was chatting with were listening as well. 

“I heard they dug so deep they released a horrible monster upon themselves! And that even dwarf women grow beards! You can’t even tell them from the men, they are so unkempt!”

“Now Lobelia,” Bilba said sternly, and the crowd turned to her, “Mining is one of their greatest trades. If they released something it was most definitely on accident and I’m sure they’ve learned from their mistakes. And from what I’ve been told beards are very important to their culture. Most other races would find it odd we grow hair on our feet but they do not think us unkempt!”

Lobelia pursed her lips, “Well, I’m sure the majority you’ve been told is from your new guests, who are certainly trying to make a good impression. But they are not hobbits, Bilba, no matter how you try to dress them up. They are dwarves, and dwarves fight battles, and kill, and I’ve heard their race is only one third female so they probably—“

“Lobelia!” Bilba snapped, “Whatever you’ve heard of dwarves, I would love to see the source, because you’ve always been one to pride yourself on hating anything not hobbit-y! And whatever other dwarves may have done in the past, the ones I have met have been nothing but kind and courteous! Thorin even protected me from a Man in Bree!”

“You’re right, Bilba,” Lobelia said, and Bilba nearly jumped in surprise, “I do not like things not hobbit-y. Because they are dangerous. So I research them to make sure I can protect myself. And dwarves are most certainly dangerous! They are a bunch of over-muscled, stone-cold warriors, who probably eat their young—“

“GET OUT!” Bilba roared. The hobbits leaped back in surprise. “Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, you have insulted my house guests, said so many racist things I can’t even begin to count, and have already pocketed six of my spoons! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” she screamed. Red-faced and enraged, she was tired of this hag. 

“Bilba, control yourself,” Lobelia tried to reason quietly. 

“I am done talking to you, Lobelia, you CRUEL, SELFISH, INSENSTIVE HOBBITCH! Now GET OUT!”

The entire smial heard the row, and Lobelia was scrambling out the door, spoons falling out of her purse as she went, he husband and mother following. The door slammed, and the home was startlingly quiet. 

“Bilba,” she heard her grandmother say quietly, “Come with me.” Her blood ran cold. She turned to find Laura standing in the doorway, and followed her into a secluded hall, and heads turning to watch her go until she was out of sight. 

Had Thorin and the boys heard all that?

“That was quite something,” Laura said once they were out of earshot.

“Grandmother, I—“

“Don’t worry about it child,” she said with a small smile. Bilba stared at her blankly. “Lobelia has always been one to say rotten things. And your father had quite the temper himself, back in the day. This isn’t about your row.”

Bilba took a deep breath that she had been holding and gulped.

“So what is this about?” 

Laura sighed sadly, and looked older than she had in a long while. 

“Bilba, I have nothing against your dwarves or any for that matter. Thorin seems like a very charming and good-hearted man, and his nephews are quite sweet, but,” because Bilba knew there would be a but, “I also have to think of my family. And I mean you when I say that.”

“Thorin would never hurt—“ Bilba started to defend.

“It’s not him I’m worried about, my dear,” Laura said, and looked deeply into her granddaughter’s eyes. “People were after them. Dwarves or warriors or whomever, somebody tried very hard to kill them. And I have to think about what that could bring to the Shire.”

“The Shire is the safest place for them,” Bilba pleaded, “No one would think to look for them here. Thorin didn’t even know what this place was before I told him, and he knew little of hobbits. They don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“But what if someone does come looking? Bilba, we are not a fighting people. If any of the people who attacked them came near here they might find out. And I doubt they would be too kind to the woman who took in their enemy. As much as I disliked your mother’s adventurous tendencies, I always respected her bravery. Bad things happen to women out in the world, Bilba. And I don’t want to see any of it happen to you.”

Bilba watched her grandmother’s face go pained and felt the same in her heart. 

“Thorin knows the danger, grandmother. He won’t let anything happen to me,” she promised. Laura sighed. 

“Very well then. If you’re sure,” she shrugged. 

“You’ll let them stay?!” Bilba asked excitedly. Laura chuckled. 

“I couldn’t very well kick them out after your little burst. A bit protective, are we?” 

Bilba blushed, until a thought came to her. 

“You really didn’t like my mother?” she asked softly. Laura’s brows rose and fell. 

“I didn’t like how she would disappear for months at a time to leave my son a mess of nerves and fearing for her safety,” Laura clicked her tongue. “Sweet lass but as soon as she was gone Bungo would start worrying day and night. I would get so frustrated with her!” she nearly stomped her foot. “But then she would come back, with a smile on her face and stories for the kids, and books for Bungo,” her voice softened lovingly, “And he would look like he had been given a gift from the Valar when he saw her. I could never understand why he did, but she made him so happy I just couldn’t stay mad at her. Belladonna, my dear, I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter in law.”

Bilba smiled as tears pricked her eyes. 

“Thank you, grandmother,” she choked. 

“Happy to, darling. Now I better be going. It’s been a long day.”

Bilba nodded, and as Laura left so did most of the family, until it was just her and the dwarves, sitting on the couch, thoroughly exhausted. 

“I never knew hobbit women were so scary,” Thorin mused. Bilba sighed.

“How much did you hear?” she asked ruefully. 

“All of it,” Thorin smirked playfully, and the boys nodded with him. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She needed a vacation. “It was very impressive,” he added, “I’m touched.”

“Well she deserved it,” Bilba declared. “And if she comes near this house again feel free to cut her.” Thorin smiled at the thought.

“Will you not get into trouble with the hobbits?” he asked. 

“Oh I don’t know. Some will probably think it a bit brash but everyone knows Lobelia has a poisonous tongue. And that I’m the best at fighting it.”

“Oh yes,” Thorin grinned, “That certainly was a show of clever psychological warfare. Very subtle mind games you used.” Bilba snorted. 

“That shows how much you know, Master Dwarf. Consider this: if you are trying to be hobbit-y, what better way to show yourself off than acting more hobbit-y than an actual hobbit?” 

Thorin’s brow furrowed as he absorbed her words. Then his eyes widened in understanding. 

“You planned this,” he said, voice low and astounded by her cleverness. 

“Always plan ahead,” Bilba said with a knowing smile.  
\------------------------------------------

If the dinner had taught Thorin one thing it was hobbit women were not to be trifled with. Sharp-tongued and quick-tempered, they were as fierce as dwarf women, at least mentally. But the more he thought about those he had met the more frightened he became. And he made some startling discoveries. 

From the ‘official’ description of the Shire, the hobbits seemed to have a very patriarchal culture. The Thain had never been a woman, and men tended to go out and work while women took care of the home. The male head of a clan seemed to be well-respected and have great power, considering how Gorbadoc’s family had taken to his decision, and how all of the others spoke of other late men. 

And that was what stuck with him. 

The two most powerful men in the Shire, short of the Thain (though Bilba had said the Thain was mostly a figure head put in place to deal with external issues like Men), were both dead. 

And their wives had taken their places and were followed like queens. 

Thorin had heard more than one story about coups led from within the royal families of Men. Sons or nephews killing the king to take his place. Queens had done it more than once, taking power and leading the way they wished. 

Had that happened in the Shire? Had the women turned on the men? It certainly seemed that the women were plenty feisty. Belladonna had been an adventuress! And they all wielding rolling pins and frying pans like clubs. The men were strong from days in the fields, but often had soft bellies and enjoyed a good smoke. 

It still shocked Thorin how many women there were in the Shire. Slightly more than fifty percent, their proportions dwarfed that of dwarf women, who only made up a third of his people. 

He wondered what would happen if there were more women in his society. Dis would have been overjoyed, but he couldn’t change that now. 

So he left a mental-note to not irritate Bilba or any of the hobbit women (other than Lobelia) and carried on. 

\-------------------------------------------

The next few days passed peacefully. Business at the forge was growing, the Bagginses beginning to put in orders. They had a special devotion to their cooking ware. 

Thorin had said he would be staying late one day to finish off a few things and Bilba decided to surprise him. Leaving Primula with the boys, she packed up a dinner for him and was on her way to the forge. 

Bilba was slightly curious; she had never seen a smith work before. Hobbits were not made for it. Sneaking around? Maybe. Going near hot fire and metal? No. Their skin was very soft and sensitive, and burns lasted. Dwarves seemed to be the exact opposite. 

She arrived at the shop a few minutes before sundown. Thorin would usually be getting home by then, but tonight the chimney was smoking and she could hear slamming metal. He hadn’t mentioned what it was he would be working on. She had stopped asking a few days earlier when he replied ‘twenty-seven hair clasps’ and had fallen onto the couch with a regretful sigh. 

She giggled at the thought and opened the door quietly, slipping into the workshop. Bilba was hit with warm air, the heat of the fire pervading through the forge. Metal and anvils were lying around, more or less used, and hammers of all sizes leaned up against them. Thorin was on the far side of the forge, and her breath caught when she saw him. 

His back was to her and he hadn’t noticed her entrance over the sound of crashing metal. He was leaning over a large anvil, hammering an unseen object with a heavy hammer. His long hair was tied back at the base of his skull, long streaks of glistening black hair falling down his back. His dark blue, thin tunic was sweated through, sticking to him and hanging off in different places. His chiseled arms were shown off in the firelight, the curves of his back protruding through the shirt. 

Bilba’s head unconsciously tilted to the side. 

She had never seen something so un-hobbit-y. 

And she liked it. 

Thorin was built and strong and unmoving, and those arms—

No. Stop that. 

Right now, Bilba. 

Announce yourself! 

She gulped, shaking her head to get out of the trance. Bilba gave a small cough to alert him, hoping her blush had dissipated. 

He didn’t hear it. 

She knocked on the door behind her. 

He didn’t hear that. 

She stomped her foot in frustration with a small squeak. 

Thorin might as well have been deaf. 

She rolled her eyes and walked up behind him, poking his shoulder hard.

“What the—?!” he roared and spun, preparing to strike with his hammer. Bilba leaped backwards, and Thorin stared in shock. His surprised eyes calmed after a moment, but came back stern. “I told you to not sneak up on me,” he growled half-heartedly, catching his breath. 

“No, you said I was lucky you did not have your sword,” she replied quickly, brushing off her trousers. 

“You still are,” he said gruffly, “What are you doing here? Where are Fíli and Kíli?”

“At home with Primula,” and Thorin wondered if she meant her home or their home, “I brought dinner.” Thorin blinked at the basket she was carrying under her arm.

“I…well I am working,” he said hesitantly, turning back to the fire. She rested her hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll work better with food in your stomach,” she said softly, “Just take a break.” His mouth hung a little as he looked at her, considering. But he quickly shut it and nodded. He placed a small cloth over another anvil and she spread the food out on top of it. When he offered her some she replied she had already eaten, and he consumed the dinner easily as she took a look around the forge. There were designs sketched on parchment and a few small tools for carving insignias. It was a neat place, if not poorly lit. 

Her mind returned to the moment she had watched him, and her face heated at the thought. What had she been thinking? Thorin wasn’t that…attractive. 

And they had just met a few weeks ago! 

They were friends. Just friends. Of different races at that! Just living together platonically, with her watching over his nephews, waiting for him to come home each day and—

Wait. 

No. 

No, Thorin was a fine friend but nothing more. He was a good man in need, kind and strong, and a little stubborn. Well, a lot stubborn. But he was also thoughtful and selfless and cared for her. And those muscles were so—

Stop it, Bilba, stop it right now. 

She fought the blush from her face and turned back to Thorin who was just finishing his food. With a grunt of thanks he strode to a nearby table, shuffling through a few things, metal bits and such. When he spun back to her he was holding a tiny silver sphere in his fingers, a bead. 

“Bilba, I…” he paused open-mouthed, awkwardly searching for the words, “I made this for you.”

“What?” she sputtered and cautiously stepped forward to get a better view. He moved towards her as well, holding the bead close but so she could see it. It was a small thing, the size of the tip of her pinky finger, but was gleaming silver with tiny runes carved in its face. She blinked at it.

“This marks you as dwarf-friend. If you were ever in need and a dwarf saw this in your hair, they would aid you,” he said, his calm voice masking his heating face. Making a bead for another…well, some would say it was a bit ‘direct’. 

“Oh Thorin, it’s lovely, but…why?” she asked, voice light and confused. 

“You took us in with no reason to,” he said confidently and sincerely, “I owe you a debt I cannot imagine how to repay, but I think this may be a start.”

“You don’t owe me anything and I—well I don’t know how many dwarves would be very happy if they knew why I had gotten this,” she said apologetically. 

“It won’t matter,” he said seriously, “Dwarves are slow to trust and slower to be grateful. And my pride and stubbornness are above most others. But you deserve this more than any, Bilba Baggins. Any dwarf who saw this wouldn’t ask how you got it. They would only know you were trustworthy and an understanding soul. They would give you aid without question.” 

Bilba hesitantly put out her hand, and he laid the bead in her palm, using his hands to fold hers around the metal sphere. His large and tough hands wrapped around her small, soft one, and their eyes lifted from where the bead rested to meet each other’s gaze. 

It was a moment lost to time. Her green eyes, which he could only compare to emeralds and peridots, met his blue ones, which she would later describe as icy or sky-like. They were lost in an understanding, a trust and belief in the fact that they would always be there for one another. She could keep him safe from his past, and he would protect her from every future danger. The copper-haired, petite hobbit woman and the calloused, warrior dwarf were an odd sight in the resurrected forge, but they could not have cared less. 

And just as the stare hit the mark of being much too long and only possible to mean one thing—

They dropped it. And their hands. 

“Thank you, Thorin,” she said softly, averting her gaze to the bead and rolling it between her fingers. 

“My pleasure, Bilba,” he answered, returning to the table of metal pieces. There was silence in the workshop for a few moments before Thorin spoke up again. “I made some locks for Bag End. And a few small weapons to hide around the house in case anything happens.” 

Bilba didn’t need to ask what the ‘anything’ might pertain, but she did care to lighten the mood. 

“Good. Locks are wonderful at keeping relatives out. Should save us some trouble. And if those fail then I can get some more sword practice in.” She heard Thorin snort and she looked down at the bead again. The runes were so intricate she wondered how he managed to do them on such a small surface. “Thorin?” Bilba called.

“Yes?” 

“Tonight when we get home, do you think you could braid this in my hair? Mine is rather short and I’ve never learned how.”

Thorin silently sucked in air. He knew how forward giving a bead to someone usually was—even if this wasn’t really in that context—and braiding another’s hair was reserved for kin and spouses. It’s an endear ritual, a bonding moment. It was inappropriate to act as such with someone who you weren’t connected to in some way.

But she didn’t know any of that. 

But did any of it matter?

They already declared her family. And it was not like he lived with dwarves anymore. 

“I would be happy to,” he said, using every ounce of his will power to keep his voice steady and calm. 

With renewed energy he restarted his work and finished shortly after. The two began the walk back to Bag End, each eager to return home. 

\-------------------------------------------

She sat on the floor in front of the fire, her back against Thorin’s shins and Kíli in her lap. Fíli sat by Thorin’s side, watching his uncle’s nimble fingers wade through Bilba’s curls. She gently held Kíli in her arms, running her hands through his hair and humming softly. Thorin’s baritone voice spoke lowly to his eldest nephews, words trailing in and out of Khuzdul and Westron. She only understood the snippets in Common Tongue, but they were enough to know he was speaking of Erebor. Bilba didn’t ask for what she missed. She didn’t need to. 

For once, the whole family felt relaxed. Not overjoyed and relieved, or angry and solemn, but calm and content. They had faced all the hurdles the Shire had and come out on top. There were other worries, of dwarves who might come looking and what it would be like for Fíli and Kíli to grow up in a culture not their own, but right then those worries didn’t matter. They could be faced another day. 

And while Bilba and Thorin both knew there was more to their relationship than either was ready to admit, they also understood that there was no rush. They would remain by each other’s side through thick and thin, loyal and strong to whatever end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAA  
> YOU KNOW THAT PAINFUL FEELING IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH RIGHT NOW?  
> THAT'S EMOTIONAL!CONSTIPATION.  
> God, I love writing.  
> And you can't blame me because I warned you.


	12. A Different Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be all about Fili and Kili.  
> And it is.  
> But somehow Bagginshield snuck in there while I wasn't paying attention and well  
> Good feels all around.

Fíli and Kíli were brothers in every form and fashion. This included the aspects of brothers some didn’t think they had. Bilba and Primula had never seen the two as anything less than co-conspirators, never disagreeing or fighting like normal brothers did. The truth was that they had fought in the past, Fíli jealous of the attention Kíli got being the youngest, Kíli jealous of how Fíli was always treated as the Crown prince and older sibling, getting more freedom. The brothers had their good days and bad days, and acted like normal children. 

Of course, things change when you’re suddenly orphaned and forced to run from the only home you’ve ever known. 

Fíli’s natural instinct to protect Kíli went into overdrive, as did Kíli’s loyalty to his brother. They had lost everything short of their uncle and each other, and they intended to hang on to both. 

And when they met Bilba and her food and her home, the brothers realized that their future might not be as painful as they expected. 

\---------------------------------------------

A normal day for the two was a fun day. They started by waking up whichever brother was still asleep by jumping on their bed. Bilba and Thorin had moved a second bed into the nursery some days ago so the two were close but learning to live independently. 

First breakfast was always a happy affair, full of sweet food and cheery smiles. While Kíli was still a bit young to notice, Fíli always saw the warm looks their uncle and Bilba gave each other, especially when the other wasn’t looking. Fíli didn’t remember a lot about his father, but he remembered that. 

But he also knew that was Adult Business, the sort of thing they would mark down for When You’re Older. So he didn’t mention it. 

Then Uncle Thorin would leave to go to the forge and they would all begin the long and arduous process of saying goodbye, because a small part in each other brothers worried they might not see him again. Bilba never stopped them, and if the lads noticed the slightly sad look on her face as Thorin walked down Bag Shot Row, they didn’t feel the need to say anything. 

But then Fíli and Kíli would always get cheered up by the games and stories she had, and in turn Bilba’s mood would pick up as well. They would draw and play hide-and-seek inside, and tag and wrestle in the backyard. She would wash them up if they got to messy and then they would eat second breakfast and eventually luncheon. 

Afterwards they would sit down for lessons. Bilba helped increase their Westron vocabulary and taught them helpful bits of Sindarin (after they promised to never, ever tell their uncle). The brothers’ math skills were excellent, and the two began to study her books on history. There was a tome on herb uses Fíli found interesting and another on animals Kíli liked. 

Eventually it would be time for dinner and the boys would try to help, usually making a mess. Bilba never minded; the two brought more joy to her heart than stress, and always aided in the cleanup. They all would work to cook supper, in which there were plenty of desserts. 

Thorin would get home soon after, much to the joy and relief of the three homebodies. He’d scoop up the boys and hug them until they squirmed in embarrassment. Bilba and Thorin would share and small hug or touch on the arm and no matter how brief it was they always separated with pinked cheeks. Fíli and Kíli both noticed that. The dwarf king would escape to the bathroom to clean himself up and the boys would set the table as Bilba laid out the food. 

She had never imagined herself as some sort of stay-at-home-mother, and definitely not living with three dwarves, but somehow she never seemed to mind. 

Supper was a familial moment, a mix of calm happiness from the adults and the lads’ immense energy in telling their uncle what they had done that day. The group would usually retire to the sitting room, where the brothers would either listen to their uncle’s stories of dwarf history or Erebor, or he would tutor them in Khuzdul and Iglishmêk. 

And then the boys would begin to yawn and their eyelids would become heavy but they would fight tooth and nail to not go to bed. Sooner or later though, they lost the will to resist, and Thorin and Bilba would carry them to their room. Fíli and Kíli didn’t know how much longer the adults stayed up. The brothers were always out in minutes. 

But something nagged at the boys. It seemed that just life became happy and peaceful, something always went wrong. 

\-------------------------------------------------

One night, something did. 

The brothers had been sleeping like rocks in their room when they were woken by a terrible roar. Angry and anguished, they knew who it was instantly, and had an idea of what it was about. Fíli and Kíli were up and out in seconds, reaching the door to Thorin’s room just a step before Bilba. They burst into the bedroom, Bilba’s candle pouring light on their uncle, who was sitting up with his fingers gripping the sheets like his life depended on it. Thorin’s eyes were huge, full of pain and rage and bewilderment. His bedroom smelled of sweat and his hair hung down around his face like a dark curtain as he breathed hard and fast. 

Fíli and Kíli didn’t hesitate to run to their uncle. They couldn’t fight off nightmares or stop tears from falling, but the brothers could offer comfort in bucket-loads. Rushing up and into his lap, the boys hugged the larger dwarf close, murmuring what they could to help. Thorin opened his arms immediately, wrapping the lads up in his thick arms and pressing them close. Though he did not sob or shout, Fíli and Kíli felt the tremors in his body and the tears falling from his eyes as he buried his head in their hair. 

There was only one thing that ever made Thorin cry. 

Azanulbizar. 

The boys had been told few details about the battle due to their age, but every dwarf knew that it was one of the most horrible clashes in their history, and a curse to every dwarf who had lived through it. Memories of the blood, the gore, the sheer number of orcs ravaging their forces and the beheading of their king were known to haunt every warrior’s mind. They may have won the battle, but the loss was far too great to count it as a success. 

No soldier killed at the Gates of Moria was buried, there were simply too many to do so. 

So their bodies were burned. 

In enormous mountains of flesh and armor, dwarves from numerous clans and backgrounds were set alight, the only memorial to their deaths a peace of parchment recording their names so that their families could be notified. 

Thorin lost his grandfather, father, and far too many friends. 

And all he had to show for it was an epithet. 

Fíli and Kíli had been born decades after the battle, but had seen the results of it. Countless night their mother had spent comforting Thorin and Dwalin when they woke screaming. Hours she had held them, telling both the death count was not their fault and that they had done all they could. The brother’s father had been too young to go into battle at the time, and for that Dis was grateful, but it made her feel responsible for those that did. 

And now she was gone. 

But they were not alone. 

Fíli and Kíli looked at Bilba who was still standing in the doorway unsure of how to act. She had never seen him so broken, and certainly had no idea why. But the boys’ pleading eyes told her what she needed to know, and she cautiously stepped forward to the edge of the bed. She set the candlestick down on the bedside table and sat on the mattress. 

“Thorin,” she whispered tentatively. He pulled his nephews in tighter but looked up at her, the fire light reflecting off his wet cheeks. In a normal situation, she would have asked what the nightmare was about and urged him to talk about it. That usually helped people. But this obviously wasn’t a normal nightmare and Thorin had faced a lot more horrid things than most people. It could have been the dragon or orcs or dwarves or who-knows-what-else attacking him. She knew better than to try to force him to talk. “Whatever it was,” she began softly, “I’m here.” 

His eyes darted away, considering her words and Fíli and Kíli watched him carefully. After a moment, he opened his arms. Bilba scooted in, bringing her feet up onto the bed, and hugged with all the warmth she could muster. His hairy, muscled arms encircled her waist as she put hers around his neck and mane. The brothers clung to his sides as their uncle cried into the crook of her neck. 

Fíli glanced up at the adults. It astounded him how much she was like Dis, as well as how different. Dis would cuddle and coddle and hold her brother like he was a little boy. She mourned alongside him. His mother was strong and wise and knew his uncle’s physical and emotional scars like they were her own. 

Bilba was different. 

She knew almost nothing, not the battles or those lost, not the struggles they went through or the humiliation they faced. While Dis could comfort the warriors over battles lost and the deaths of loved ones, she could not bring any more food to the table or soft sheets to their beds. None of that was her fault; it was what every dwarf faced. And that was where she and Bilba differed. Bilba may have understood starvation and fighting wild animals, but she had never faced true war. She didn’t know anything of Azanulbizar beyond what Thorin had told her. She could console him but only generally. 

But she could give him food and safety and shelter and a future for his nephews. 

Fíli knew Bilba was not his mother. She never would be. 

But, perhaps, she could make a wonderful aunt. 

\------------------------------------------------

It was a few days later, after Thorin had told Bilba all about Azanulbizar, when Fíli and Kíli noticed the air in the Shire was beginning to get colder. When they mentioned it she checked the calendar, and lo and behold autumn was creeping up on them. 

And that meant one thing. 

“It’s gonna be our birthdays soon!” Kíli chirped. Bilba spun. 

“What? When?” she asked. Thorin strode to the calendar and checked the dates. 

“Little more than a week,” he answered. “They’re on the same day, actually.” Bilba gasped. 

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh there is so much to do! We have to decide who is coming and make invitations and get presents and put up decorations and—“

“Bilba, please,” Thorin soothed, “A small party is fine. It could just be the four of us or maybe a few of the Took children. And we can get presents any day.” Bilba’s shaking hands calmed down and she stared thoughtfully at the boys. 

“Okay, yes, that could work. I mean we don’t really have to get presents for any of the adults and the Took kids will like anything you get them…”

“Wait.” Thorin peered at her. “What do you mean? Why would we get presents for the guests?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Because it’s Fíli and Kíli’s birthday,” she said like Thorin was slow. 

“Yes, I know that. But why would we get the guests gifts? They bring the boys gifts.”

“What are you talking about? At birthdays the birthday person gives out—Oh, wait,” she paused as her eyes widened with dawning knowledge. “That’s not how dwarves do it, is it?” 

“Certainly not,” Thorin said as he folded his arms huffily, “At birthdays, invited guests bring the birthday child presents to celebrate their birth. What do hobbits do?”

“Hobbits give gifts on their birthdays, to show their generosity and love, to demonstrate that the life they were blessed with for another year is appreciated and given back,” explained. 

As the adults digested the information, the boys tugged at each of the elders’ trouser legs. 

“So are we not going to get presents this year?”Kíli asked quietly, big brown puppy eyes staring up at Bilba. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ of pained surprise. She scooped up the lad and set him on her hip. 

“Of course you are dear. You will have a wonderful birthday and I’ll buy a big cake and we’ll have an excellent party with the Took children. Just you wait,” she said with a sweet smile. Kíli’s face lit up as did Fíli’s, and even Thorin smiled fondly at the idea. 

“What about the hobbits?” he asked hesitantly. Her head turned to him to give a reassuring look. 

“You let me take care of the hobbits. Just find out what these two trouble-makers would like for their birthday.”

Thorin once again felt debt-ridden, but refused to show it for the sake of his boys. 

\------------------------------------------------

Thorin worried. Fíli and Kíli knew this. 

He worried about them and Bilba, about if they were learning their Khuzdul and Iglishmêk, if she was getting her sword parries right. He worried about getting all of his orders done at the forge and if Lobelia would ever show her face in Bag End again. He worried. 

But two days a week when he was at home, not at work, Fíli and Kíli did everything they could to make him happy. They wrestled with him and made him laugh, showed him how much they were learning and told him how they had helped Bilba earlier that week. The brothers tried to make the creases on his forehead dissipate and stay gone. Fíli was usually the brains behind such operations. He had the bright ideas on how to cheer Thorin up. Kíli, the smaller, slightly-more-innocent looking one tended to act them out, if not with help from his older brother. 

One of these plans popped into Fíli’s head one afternoon when they were playing in the backyard. The small family had decided to have a small picnic lunch in the flowery field behind Bilba’s smial and afterwards the boys were running around in a game of tag. It was just after being tagged that Fíli thought he might add his uncle to the game by tagging him, when he noticed the look on Thorin’s face. Bilba was restting on the picnic blanket in a blouse and skirt, sitting in a side-saddled fashion next to him. She had a hand over her bright smile, giggling at the boys antics. Thorin was laid back on his elbows with his ankles crossed. And he was grinning as well. Not a big, joyful grin, but a relaxed one, with no wrinkles or signs of tiredness in his expression. 

He was looking at Bilba. She was well-distracted, watching Kíli chase a bumble-bee, and Thorin was just gazing at her, contented. 

And Fíli saw an opportunity. He called time-out, ran to his brother and whispered the plan. This would take both of them. Kíli dashed back to the smial, returning moments later with a long jump rope. Fíli ran to the adults, grabbing one of each of their hands and dragging them to their feet. 

“Can you spin the rope while we jump?” he asked beseechingly, his big blue Durin eyes staring up at them. 

Now how could they refuse that?

The four moved to a little plain with low grass and Thorin and Bilba twirled the rope slowly as Fíli and Kíli jumped over it. This went on for a few minutes, the boys trying it while holding hands or with only one leg, but after so long the brothers shared a look and knew what to do.

“Now you!” Kíli exclaimed. Bilba and Thorin glanced uneasily at each other, but handed the boys the ends of the rope. Bilba picked up her skirt as Thorin tied back his hair and they glanced at the lads. Fíli and Kíli began turning the rope, having to swing extra high to make it over the adults’ heads. Of course, Bilba’s large foot got caught in it, and they all stopped for a moment to chuckle. That’s when the boys shared a wink. 

Fíli and Kíli swung the rope up so that tapped against the grown-ups’ waists, and began running circles around them. 

“Boys, what are you—“

“Fíli! Kíli! Stop this righ—“

But as the brothers dashed as fast as they could, jumping over each other’s line, the adults were quickly tied up from the waist down, chest-to-chest. Fíli and Kíli giggled incessantly as they knotted the ends of the rope together, the adults wrapped up like a Yule present. Thorin and Bilba staggered and blushed, everything between their knees and necks in full contact. The two tried to balance but their flailing arms and weight difference sent them stumbling until Thorin fell flat on his back, bringing Bilba down on top of him. With an ‘uumf’ of discomfort they both tried to weasel out of the bindings, only causing more contact and flushing as each apologized and tried to ignore the horrible situation they were in, exceedingly grateful they were in the back yard where no one could see. 

“BOYS!” Thorin roared, “You untie us this instant!” 

But they didn’t. 

Fíli and Kíli ran into Bag End, clutching their sides with laughing pains, and locked the doors. When they heard Thorin banging on the backdoor some twenty minutes later, every cookie in the kitchen now missing, Fíli slid the key to the front door out the window, and got ready to run. Sure enough, when Thorin came bursting through the front door seconds later, Fíli and Kíli made a dash out the back. 

Right into Bilba’s waiting arms. The ensuing four-person wrestling match was one of laughs and frustration, ending with a boy each of the adult’s arms, and no more cookies. 

Fíli and Kíli had expected worse punishment, but for some reason neither Thorin nor Bilba seemed too upset. 

And the only lines on Thorin’s face were from laughs. 

\--------------------------------------------

The party weighed heavily on Thorin’s mind the day before it was planned to occur. He was at the forge, carving each boy a wooden sword and shield. This was the first party they’d had. It would be a small gathering, just the friendly Tooks and maybe Drogo and Primula (separately, for their sakes). But the cultural differences worried him. What if there was more he didn’t know? What if they did something to offend the hobbit children and Fíli and Kíli lost their friends? And passing out gifts? Thorin still didn’t know how that was supposed to go. He wanted to make something for the guests, to not weigh on Bilba’s money, but she had told him to let her take care of it, again. 

Perhaps he could pay her back for the gifts. 

He just hoped Fíli and Kíli got their day. They’d never really had a ‘happy’ birthday before. 

\--------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Bilba was trying to teach the boys to dance. It wasn’t entirely necessary at their age, most young kids just twirled around in circles whenever music was played. But the Tooks loved their music and dancing, and chances were the ones she invited would bring their instruments. It was true that sooner or later Fíli and Kíli would need to learn how to dance, they were growing up to be proper young lads after all, so they might as well learn now. Back in the backyard, she taught them different line dances and couples dances, each trading off being the girl. 

She dreaded the day they would begin messing around with girls.

Or boys, as the case might be. She would feel terribly old no matter who or what they happened to start dancing with when the time came. 

Oh, and the Talk! She feared the Talk. Thorin could cross that bridge when they came to it, without her, thank you very much. 

But she also worried about how the boys would grow up as dwarves in hobbit society. Did they understand why they had been driven out? Would Thorin have to explain their long and sad history to them just as he had to her? Would they grow thick beards like he did? Would the hobbits like them so much when they stopped looking and acting so much like hobbit children? And what would Fíli and Kíli act like? Rebellious, angry teenagers? Happy-go-lucky fools? Would they work in the forge?

If this was parenting, then she had never thanked her parents enough. 

But as she showed Kíli how to lead without tripping over his own feet, she realized that maybe she hadn’t needed to. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Thorin took the boys to the forge on their birthday. They had always wanted to see him work and Bilba needed time to set up decorations and cook in peace. They got bored rather quickly, so he told them to go play with the children in the Market but check in every hour. Leaving the forge in time to make it home for dinner, the three set out hand in hand, the boys swinging about in excitement. Thorin was pleased to see them like this, carefree and jovial. They had spent far too much time in pain.

He unlocked the front door to Bag End, which he made Bilba promise to lock every morning when he left and every night before bed, and the boys rushed in, calling for Bilba. 

They found nothing. 

None of the lanterns or candles were burning, there were no plates in the kitchen or dining room, Thorin even checked her bedroom and there was no sign of her. The dwarves assembled in the sitting room, tense and frantic, unsure of what to do. 

That’s when they heard the crash outside. 

The sound of something heavy hitting the dirt ground with a thud sent the dwarves sprinting towards the backdoor, bursting through it to find—

“SURPRISE!!!” the hobbits shouted.

Dozens of hobbits of all ages were scattered about, sitting in chairs or standing around, a few large tents standing up with lanterns hanging from ropes draped all around. There was a long table covered in platters of food, an area of flattened grass for dancing, and a wooden cart overflowing with fireworks. 

And standing next to it was a very familiar-looking gray wizard. 

The dwarves gasped. Fíli and Kíli’s eyes nearly exploded from their sockets and they shrieked in delight. Thorin’s jaw hung open, shell-shocked and dumb-founded. 

“Happy Birthday!” the hobbits called, snapping him from his trance. In the forefront was Bilba, beaming with joy. She opened her arms for a hug and the boys ran into her, nearly knocking her over. They were bursting with thanks and laughter, not believing that she had done so much for them. 

“Well go on around!” she told the lads, “A lot of the kids are waiting for you! Go play!” 

And they were off. 

She strolled over to where Thorin was standing, rooted to the ground. He shakily lifted a finger towards the display.

“You…How did you…?” he asked incoherently. She giggled. 

“Thorin, if there is one thing we hobbits are better at than any other race in the world, it’s partying. And you can tell that to the elves,” she said smugly, “Besides, the boys made a lot of friends during the family gatherings. When I mentioned the party to the Tooks, the gossip got around to the Brandybucks, and eventually to the Bagginses. I couldn’t keep them out if I tried.” She grinned up at him, overjoyed with the development. 

“But what about the gifts?” Thorin said weakly.

“No problem at all,” Bilba said gleefully, “I explained everything in the invitations. And they all brought gifts!” 

Thorin stared at the large crowd of hobbits, then at Bilba, then back to the party and back to her. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” 

He took a deep breath while he absorbed the information. When he looked back her she was still grinning, proud and happy for the boys. 

“You hobbits,” he said, shaking his head, “are astounding.”

\-------------------------------------------------

The night had so many different delights Fíli and Kíli had trouble keeping track.

There was the enormous cake the Brandybucks had baked, complete with buttermilk icing and candles with both their ages. They each got to make a wish before blowing them out together. 

There was also Gandalf’s firework display (completely free of fiery dragons) that lit up the sky with color and sound. They even got to light some!

Next was the dancing, the whole bound of hobbits circling up on the dance floor. The boys twirled happily with the other kids until all were dizzy, but Kíli did catch a glimpse of Thorin and Bilba in a line dance together. 

And, of course, there were the presents. 

Oh, the presents. 

The pile of wrapped gifts was taller than them!

There were toys and clothes and books and Bilba even got them new boots! The brothers nearly exploded in in excitement when they saw Thorin’s wooden weapons. There were plush animals from the Tooks and young novels from the Bagginses and Primula personally bought them matching scarves for the winter ahead. 

And as the evening began to dim, after most of the families helped take down the tents and all the children had given sad goodbyes to the wandering wizard (though he had spent plenty of the evening with Bilba and Thorin, discussing matters), Fíli and Kíli both agreed it was a night to remember. 

It was later that night, tucked in with all their new stuffed animals and thoroughly stuffed with cake, when Fíli and Kíli got up the courage to tell their uncle and Bilba to stop being stubborn poopy-heads. 

They tip-toed out of their room and down the hall until they reached the doorway to the sitting room. The brothers only just tipped their heads in to see, and found a remarkable sight. 

Sitting on the couch, side by side in front of the warm fire, were Bilba and Thorin. 

And they were kissing. 

Only their lips and just so lightly, but closed-eyes and silent. 

Fíli and Kíli shared a proud look, and danced back to their room. The brothers laid in their beds, laughing quietly to each other and glancing at each other in agreement. 

Their birthday wish had come true. 

And it was the happiest birthday ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves next chapter!  
> But just the ones I want!
> 
> This chapter now has adorable fan art!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/785906


	13. To Be Feared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, some things I need to say:  
> 1) Ori is a girl.   
> I have made Ori a girl. I like Fem!Ori. "The Importance of Being Ori" got me addicted.   
> I understand that many of you do not like genderbends. I get it. I'm not a huge fan of them when in big doses.   
> I've spent the past month debating Ori's gender in my head, and I chose Fem!Ori for both preference and plot reasons.   
> You guys have to trust me on this one. I have plans.  
> And I do apologize if you don't like it, and I promise this is the only other character I'll genderbend.   
> 2) Because Fíli, Kíli, and Ori are all still kids, I have imagined this as happening about 60 years before when the Quest would actually begin. Remember, in this AU hobbits live as long as dwarves, so everyone is a bit younger than they would be in the movie, but not extremely (except for the kids because I believe they were all teenagers so 60 years causes a big change). This also means that Ered Luin has not reached its good days (as Balin said in the movie "A life of peace and plenty"), so the dwarves' lives are still pretty low.   
> 3) For all of you who wanted the Thorin/Bilba POV for the kiss:   
> Sorry No.   
> I am going to out tidbits of them flashing back to it in the story, but only in pieces.   
> And wow there are a lot of Dwalin fans.

It was some days after the party and kiss that the family of four was once again thrown into chaos. Thorin was off at the forge and Bilba was reading one of the new books with the boys in the sitting room over tea and biscuits. Cozy on the couch, the three sat relaxed and content, the stresses of past weeks finally receding. Fíli’s golden hair was learning how to sit calmly on his head and Kíli’s was free of knots for the first time in years. Thorin’s bead hung untouched in Bilba’s hair, the braid steady and firm. Their kiss had been brief but sweet, but unfortunately, neither was entirely on what the next step in their relationship could be. They lived together. That undermined a few steps in a normal courtship. Nonetheless, Bilba was happy. She and her boys were safe and welcomed, and life had finally found a balance. 

Then there was a knock at the door. 

Bilba glanced up with pursed lips. Hobbits had been dropping by annoyingly often to put in orders for Thorin. She was happy that he was doing good business, but it certainly cut in to her family time. Hobbits tended to turn a statement into a soliloquy. But she stood up, set the book between the boys and told them to keep reading as she went to check who it was. She brushed a few crumbs off her red skirt and re-buttoned her golf vest over white blouse and opened the door. 

It wasn’t a hobbit. 

It was a dwarf. A very tall, very bulky and muscular dwarf with axes on his back, tattoos on his head, and a scowl on his face. 

Bilba’s breath caught in her throat.

They’d been found. 

“Dwalin,” he said low and dark with a bow that didn’t break eye contact, “At your service.” His tone didn’t sound as kind as his statement. 

“B-Bilba Baaggins, at yours,” she stuttered. Her hands were shaking and her chest felt tight. This was bad. Very, very bad. 

Had they gotten Thorin yet?

“I am looking for a few dwarves,” the warrior said. So they hadn’t. Or he was bluffing her. “Have you seen any in this village?”

Bilba’s thoughts were flying and frantic. If they hadn’t found Thorin, but were looking for him, they would have asked around, to a lot of smials, right? Bag End was at the top of the hill, so they wouldn’t have just started here. But if he didn’t know Thorin was here (or was he pretending he didn’t know?) that meant none of the hobbits had told him. So she could play her hopes and lie. 

“No, no, I’m afraid not. Other than you, of course,” she answered nervously. He nodded subtly and looked back over the Shire, preparing to leave. 

“Who is it, Bilba?” Kíli called so loudly his voice was crisp and clear. 

The dwarf’s head snapped back so fast he could have gotten whiplash. She flew back slammed the door with a fright, locking every metal piece Thorin had installed. 

He recognized Kíli’s voice. 

He knew.

“Boys!” she said as quietly as she could with them still able to hear, “Get to the cellar! Now!”

Bilba dared to peak out the front window on the side of Bag End’s round door, trying to see what the dwarf was doing. A large, scarred eye met hers through the window. She leaped away, sprinting to the sitting room. 

“Bilba, why do we have to go to the cellar?” Fíli asked carefully, holding his brother’s shoulder. 

“Fíli, Kíli, I need you to listen to me,” she said desperately, “Go to the cellar and stay there. Don’t make a sound. Just wait for me.” 

Bilba rushed to the back door, locking it as well, and bolted all of the windows. There was no sign of the dwarf from any of those exits, so she slowly crept to the front window again. She peered out from the hall, a difficult angle to see but harder for him to see her. With no sign of danger, she moved forward until her face was at the window, and craned her neck to look. All she could see was his back and his axes as he sprinted down Bag Shot Row. 

She couldn’t let them take the boys. She wouldn’t let them take the boys. 

Bilba dashed to one of her chests and grabbed her sword. It was small but nimble, and she thought she was getting good, but against a dwarven warrior? The thought made her gulp. She wasn’t much of a match for Thorin, and that dwarf looked like he could give the King Under the Mountain a serious fight. 

Bilba grabbed a few snacks from the pantry, and ran to the cellar to sit with the boys. 

\----------------------------------------------

“I found them!” Dwalin shouted, voice rough and booming. The small group of dwarves at the inn above the Green Dragon jumped to their feet. Their little wooden room was made to fit four Men but was plenty for the five dwarves and the one dwarfling. 

“You did? Where’s Thorin?” Bofur exclaimed. That stopped Dwalin short. He hadn’t heard or seen Thorin. Just Kíli. 

“I didn’t see Thorin,” he admitted, and the dwarves looked downcast, “But I heard Kíli. Just before the door slammed in my face.”

“What happened?” Dori asked. He figured sending Dwalin out was a bad idea. The wizard had said Thorin was living among a peaceful people. Their present warrior would’ve made them wet their pants. 

“I was going door to door, asking if any had seen dwarves,” Dwalin explained, “I got to the hole at the top of the hill and the lass said she hadn’t. Then I heard Kíli shout, asking who I was. I was about to go see him when she shut the door and locked it.”

“Well let’s go open it then!” Nori exclaimed, and he likely could have if his reputation was anything to go on.

“Wait.” Dwalin scowled, his eyes squinting as he gazed seriously at each of the dwarves. “I think something dark is going on here,” he growled. Bifur questioned him in Khuzdul. “The wizard said he brought them here, but when I was going to the hobbits’ houses, they all said they hadn’t seen any dwarves at all. Not Thorin nor the boys.”

“Well, they are supposed to be hiding out here,” Bofur offered.

“Thorin has been here just over a month, but these halflings are a private people. Not the kindest to outsiders. You really think they’d just hide him out of love when facing me?” Dwalin snarled. The dwarves glanced at each other. 

“Then why do you think the lady hid Kíli?” Dori asked rocking his little sister closely in his hands. He hadn’t wanted to bring the tyke along just because of the journey, but he hadn’t expected it to get even more dangerous!

“And why have we not seen any signs of Thorin but we have knowledge of the children?” Nori added. Dwalin shook his head. 

“I don’t understand what is going on at all, but I going to find out,” Dwalin said darkly. The dwarves nodded. “Let’s go.”

They marched downstairs and out of the tavern, each wondering what had happened to their king. Dwalin led them through the Market in the direction of the smials, his glower making the hobbits in front of him part like bunnies facing a predator. 

All except one. 

A shrewd, glaring woman stood in their path, facing them down.

“Don’t we have enough dwarves in this town?” she sneered at them, and they stopped in their tracks. 

“What?” Nori spluttered. 

“You heard me! I have had enough of you thick-headed miners. I thought the one with the bloody mane was bad, but you all should just move along!” 

Dwalin was already reaching for his axes when Bofur stepped between him and the woman, putting on a smile. 

“Well I apologize for any trouble he may have caused you, lass,” he said gently, “But actually we were searching for him to do just that. About time we collected out friend. Mind pointing us in the right direction?” 

She gave a curt huff and pointed a tiny had towards a small building with smoke rising from the chimney. A forge. 

“And if you all are the bunch that tried to kill him,” she added sharply, “his nephews are living in the home at the top of the hill. There’s a woman there but she’s a right shrew. Feel free to take her with you.” 

The dwarves stared at her and then each other, unsure of how to react. On one hand, this woman had just told them where to find their lost king and princes. On the other, she was happy to sell them out as well. 

Dwalin already had is axe out and was ready to take her head as a trophy but Dori and Nori were holding him back. 

“Come on, we need to find Thorin,” Bofur urged, and they dashed towards the forge. Dwalin managed to get there first, determination refocused towards finding his friend. He barreled through the door, and skidded to a halt at the sight. 

Thorin was staring at him over his shoulder from his anvil, eyes wide and mouth open. Dwalin was about to gasp when the rest of the small company rammed into him, unable to stop in time. The four dwarves (as Dori was still holding Ori and wasn’t going to rush with a tiny girl in his arms) were sprawled on the floor, moaning and groaning as the rose, their breaths leaving them when they saw their king. 

“Thorin,” Dwalin breathed hard. Thorin was nearly frozen in shock. Nearly. 

They ran to each other, embracing like long-lost brothers, relieved that the other was still alive. The others joined in, slapping Thorin on the back and shaking his hand. 

He was alive. Healthy and whole. 

The forge was full of laughs and joy and the company suddenly felt a lot lighter. 

“How did you find me?” Thorin asked when he finally got his breath back.

“The wizard,” Dwalin answered, “He came back a week after you left. Told us where he set you up. Came as soon as it wasn’t suspicious.”

“It is a blessing to see you all,” Thorin sighed happily, “But what of the others?”

“Balin had to stay. He’s the only thing keeping Ered Luin in one piece,” Dwalin muttered angrily. Thorin cocked an eyebrow. 

“The dwarves who ran you out all started arguing for power,” Dori explained, “Alone by themselves they probably wouldn’t get anything done. Balin is the only one who can keep everything organized. They don’t entirely trust him, but they need him.” Thorin nodded grimly.

“Anyway, Bombur had to stay with his family. Wanted to come but you know how many kids he has. And I think the missus might have another in the oven,” Bofur chuckled. That got a smile out of Thorin. Large families were rare. He wouldn’t have wanted Bombur to leave his. 

“Same reason Gloin stayed,” Nori added, “They just found out his wife is pregnant.” 

“That’s excellent,” Thorin said, happy for his cousin though saddened by the fact he could not celebrate with him. 

“Aye, and Oin’s needed for his medicine, and I doubt he’s too keen on leaving his sister-in-law alone in her state.”

“Well at least they’re all okay,” Thorin resigned. He took a moment to study all of his old companions. Bofur was cheerier than ever, and his cousin seemed to be coherent and aware at the moment which was a good sign. Nori had his permanent sly grin on which meant he was content as a cat with new cream. Dori was carrying the tiny Miss Ori, and Thorin wondered if it was a good idea to bring a child on such a journey (though he knew he had no room to talk), but they both seemed relaxed. 

And then there was Dwalin. 

Thorin’s old friend looked more worn down than he had in decades. He was pleased, of course, at finding his king, but the warrior just seemed old and tired. 

“Thorin!” Dwalin almost jumped in place, “The boys!” he spouted urgently, having almost forgot where they had been headed. 

“Oh yes! They’ll be thrilled to see you,” Thorin said, knowing full well that Kíli would likely not want to leave Dwalin’s side for days. 

“They’re okay?” Dori asked concernedly. 

“Yes, yes, they’re quite alright,” Thorin reassured, thinking all the dwarves were worried about was how the boys dealt with being burned and losing their mother, not being held prisoner by a tiny hobbit woman. The dwarves glanced at each other, faces of confusion and a little worry. “Gandalf introduced us to a kind hobbit woman and we have been staying with her. The lads adore her.” 

And while most of the dwarves’ stomachs dropped as they realized what has happened, Dori jumped at the wrong problem. 

“You’ve been staying with a woman? Is she married? Thorin, I’m not sure how proper this is, what are hobbit standards on such things?” he rattled on. Thorin rolled his eyes having had plenty of this from the hobbits themselves. For a moment he considered telling them about his and Bilba’s new…relationship, but decided against it. They hadn’t even told the hobbits! The rumors circling did not need any new ammunition, and neither did Lobelia. And if he was going to tell the dwarves, he and Bilba needed to talk about it first. 

“Where did you say you were staying?” Bofur asked carefully. 

“At one of the hobbit homes. They’re holes in the ground but surprisingly comfortable. Very cozy, actually,” Thorin said, and Dwalin thought he might be hallucinating because Thorin sounded pleased for the first time in decades, “It’s at the top of the hill.”

And that confirmed it. 

Nori, Bofur, and Dwalin shared a look that Thorin noticed. 

“What?” the dwarf king asked, voice suddenly low and tight. 

“We may have gone looking for you and the boys…” Nori answered slowly.

“And Dwalin may have found that house and heard Kíli inside it…” Bofur added.

“And the lass may have been frightened by me,” Dwalin finished. Thorin’s stomach dropped and his blood felt cold. This was very, very bad. 

“We need to get back. Right now.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Bilba was trying to keep the boys distracted. 

In the dark cellar of Bag End, she played a game of riddles with the little ones. 

“Okay, here’s one: The more I dry, the wetter I get. What am I?”

They sat against the wall facing the door, a boy under each arm and her sword in her lap. The two were nervous but getting rather tired from the stress. 

“A cat?” Fíli guessed. 

“No.”

“Clouds?” Kíli tried.

“No.”

“We give up.” They usually gave up after a guess each. The lads were more curious about learning what the answer actually was. 

“A towel.” 

“Oh,” they said in unison. 

“How about this,” she tried again, “I weave like a master, though I don’t have fingers. I sneak up on everyone, but I’m one to linger. I catch my food on my own, and I can make many houses in your home.”

“A spider!” Kíli called quietly.

“Yes! Very good, Kíli.” Bilba squeezed the brunette affectionately. They had to keep their voices down to be safe, but Bilba hadn’t heard anything for a while. 

“Now try this. I’m soft on inside, but hairy on the out. I’m always there for you when you need to shout. I never say a word, but I comfort you forever. With me you sleep soundly, because I’ll stop protecting you never.” 

The boys took a moment to think and Bilba waited. Eventually, Kíli spoke up, but he sounded quiet and scared.

“Thorin?” he offered. Bilba stared at him in surprise. That’s not what she had meant but it kind of fit. 

Except that Thorin wasn’t there to protect them. Bilba swallowed against her dry throat. Thorin needed to get home right now. 

“Not exactly…” she said. 

“A teddy bear,” Fíli declared. 

“Yes.”

Bilba sent off another silent prayer and started thinking of another riddle when they heard activity. 

The three froze as they heard the sound of moving metal, clinking and clanking, and then storming footsteps.

The dwarves were inside her home. 

\-------------------------------------------------

“Spread out, we have to find them!” Thorin said, unsure of how Bilba would have reacted to Dwalin. They could be hiding in the smial or the forest or who-knows-where-else!

Unfortunately, Bag End was a very large home, and the only one who had ever been inside was Thorin. So while most of the dwarves ran around, getting utterly lost and not finding any sign of the princes or their lady-friend, Thorin tried to go systematically. He checked the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the pantries (which made all of the others gasp), and found nothing. 

Dwalin searched urgently, feeling guilty for scaring an innocent woman. He was completely lost in this crazy maze of a home, but happened upon an old wooden door that looked like it headed to a basement. He remembered the days of living in the mountain, when they ran drills where, under orc attack, all women and children would run to the lowest caves to hide while the warriors defended them from above. 

So he opened the door and walked down. 

\----------------------------------------

Bilba could hear them storming her house. 

They were slamming doors and stomping around and yelling angrily to each other about finding the boys. 

Well, they weren’t going to get them. 

She could feel her heart beating in her head as one approached the cellar door. 

It creaked open, and heavy footfalls landed on the stone steps as she rose silently from the floor, sword in hand. 

\--------------------------------------------

Dwalin couldn’t see a damn thing. 

The cellar had no lit candles or lanterns and the hall wasn’t pouring any light in. He tried to squint as he stepped forward, but to no use. 

He was about to turn back to get a lamp when he felt a cold metal point touch his neck. 

Dwalin hadn’t even heard a sound. 

He tried to reach forward, to find what was poking him, but when the blade pressed harder against his throat he froze. 

“Get out, or I swear I’ll kill you,” a shaky but dangerously fierce voice growled. Definitely a woman, too. 

Dwalin, having never before faced a small hobbit woman with an elvish letter opener acting like a mother bear, did the smart thing. 

He called for Thorin. His shout seemed to startle the lass, and the blade pushed harder against him. He tried to back away but she followed, only stopping when the sounds of heavy, running footsteps filled the air from the hall.

“Bilba? Bilba!” Thorin shouted, and relief rushed into her system. He was alive!

But then—

“Bilba, are you alright?” Thorin called as he rushed down the stairs, lantern in hand. He searched the room with his eyes and stopped at the bottom of the stairs when he saw the situation. She had her sword in an iron grip, pointing it desperately at Dwalin, looking like she would never let go. 

After the events in the Prancing Pony, Thorin didn’t blame her. 

“Bilba, it’s okay,” he said, trying to calm her down. “This is Dwalin. He is a friend. He helped me escape from Ered Luin. We can trust him.” He could hear the other dwarves nearing the cellar and knew he needed to defuse this as fast as possible, preferably before Bilba stabbed somebody. 

He walked to her slowly, noticing how her hands trembled slightly, and how Dwalin was as still as a statue, save for his eyes that followed Thorin carefully. 

“But-But he…”

“Bilba, you can relax. We’re safe. No one here is going to hurt you or the boys.” He reached out, softly wrapping his hands around hers and gently pulling the sword from her grasp. He let it fall to the floor as he rested a hand on each of her arms. “It’s okay, Bilba. It’s okay.” Her lip quivered but she nodded slowly. “Boys?” he called. 

The two came running, attaching themselves to his legs. 

“Uncle, are you okay?” Fíli asked. 

“There was a scawy man at the door,” Kíli said, and Dwalin reddened. 

“Ah, yes, I’m fine. And actually that scary man was Dwalin,” Thorin answered. Kíli’s face lit up and his head snapped to look at the other warrior. 

“Mister Dwalin!” he cheered and dashed into the man’s arms. The old soldier smiled for the first time in ages as he hugged the tyke. The other dwarves were descending the stairs as well, taking a look at the scene. Bilba watched them apprehensively, staying quiet still by Thorin’s side. He cleared his throat loudly. 

“Ah, Bilba, I believe introductions are in order,” Thorin said. 

\-------------------------------------------------

After meeting the six new guests, Bilba came to some conclusions.

Dwarves were hairy, very hairy, and that was saying something coming from a race with furry feet. They were also quite loud and certainly not the gentlest folk in the land. Between the large muscles and countless weapons, Bilba was forcing herself to not shake in place. And while they were all very kind, they obviously had no idea of etiquette. 

She was slowing learning their names and faces, some easier than others. 

There was Nori, who was easy to spot with his complex hair. He always seemed to have a sly or clever grin on his face, and Bilba was sure she’d seen at least half a dozen knives on him. Dwalin was easy to remember from their different encounters, and while not out-rightly rude, he was somewhat abrasive towards her. He hadn’t left Thorin’s side since they had come home, and Kíli was always within three feet of him. Bofur was recognizable for his large hat and goatee, and was the only one without a long or puffy beard. He was always cracking jokes that were more or less vulgar, but he acted friendly towards her more than the others. His cousin Bifur was difficult to understand, well actually impossible, but he was the only one to eat the salad she made for their lunch and he helped clean the dishes so Bilba liked him already. Dori seemed to have a grasp of etiquette and politeness and had a large knowledge of teas and wines. The two agreed to compare notes later. 

But the dwarf Bilba liked most had to be Ori. Wee Ori, who was quiet and content and loved drawing and reading and learning. Bilba was a little relieved to not be the sole female in the house. 

After a lunch of introductions and discoveries, the dwarves began discussing rather serious things, of Ered Luin’s current state and Thorin’s future. Bilba sat at the far end of the table from Thorin, slightly lost in the conversation, but she was curious and wanted to know what was going on. After hearing a few phrases in Khuzdul she couldn’t understand Bilba was about to ask for clarification when Dori turned to her. 

“Miss Bilba?” he asked, “Do you think you could take Ori to another room for a bit?” 

“Oh, is the little dear getting tired?” she asked with a gentle smile. She gazed fondly at Ori who was sitting in her older brother’s arms, but very much awake. 

“No,” he answered, “I just don’t think this is the sort of conversation for her.”

“She is rather young for plotting and strategies,” Bilba chuckled and looked up the table, “Shall I take Fíli and Kíli too?” The other dwarves turned towards her voice and then back at Thorin for an answer. Fíli was resting loyally in his lap, Kíli in Dwalin’s. 

“No, I think their fine,” Dori interjected, “This just isn’t the sort of thing for women to talk about.”

Thorin froze. 

Did he really just say that. 

Thorin watched in unmoving horror as Bilba slowly turned her heads towards Dori, a perfectly polite smile on her face and a still calm that forewarned bad things. 

“Hmm? What was that?” she asked like she genuinely hadn’t heard him. 

“Well you know ladies needn’t trouble themselves with such horrid things. Politics and violence, no, women are simply made for gentler things,” Dori said kindly, as if doing her a favor. 

“Ah,” Bilba said, with a smile Thorin recognized. The perfectly-proper-and-polite smile Bilba only ever wore when facing Lobelia. “Well then,” she said, turning towards the rest of them, “I’ll just be going.” 

Her eyes met his, and Thorin felt a chill run through him. This would end painfully for someone, and he highly doubted it would be her. 

But she scooped up Ori, and made her way down the hall. No one spoke until they heard a door click closed. 

“Well, she’s seems like a lovely woman,” Dori said, “Very nurturing.” 

“A word of advice, for as long as you’re in the Shire,” Thorin began suddenly, “If you value your life or sanity, do not say anything remotely sexist like that ever again. Especially in the presence of a hobbit woman.” 

The dwarves stared at him skeptically.

“Somebody is a little protective,” Bofur chuckled, and a few others joined in the laugh. 

“It isn’t me. It is the hobbit women,” Thorin said and gave a long sigh, enough to quiet the dwarves. “While the hobbits may look soft and weak they have faced many hardships of their own, Bilba even more so. And I have found that the women are exceptionally crafty and clever. While the vast majority are kind-hearted and generous souls, many are also well-versed in extortion, manipulation, bribery, and possibly power-seizing.”

The men were wide-eyed and slack-jawed, but stared disbelievingly. 

“You have got to be joking,” Dwalin said. 

“I’m not,” Thorin said carefully, “And I believe it deserves to be mentioned that the two heads of the largest, richest clans of hobbits, and in result the two most powerful people in the Shire, are the widows of the patriarchs. Both men died some years ago and their wives have since come to rule the families. I do not know if they are ones to usurp power but I should mention—Bilba is the granddaughter of both these women.”

Silence reigned as the men absorbed this and shared looks. After the woman in the Market, Thorin’s theory seemed possible. 

“Oh Mahal!” Dori yelped, “She’s watching Ori!” 

He barreled out of the dining room in a flash, Thorin hot on his tail. The others followed quickly, though rather cautiously. Dori was at the study’s door in a second and nearly broke it off the hinges when he slammed it open. 

“—and they lived happily ever after,” Bilba said calmly, the bursting dwarves not phasing her. She looked up at them with a gentle smile from her rocking chair, Ori in her lap while Bilba held a large tome in her hands, the base resting on her knees. “Can I help you boys?” she asked. Dori was panting, his eyes searching the room. 

“I-I,” he stammered. 

“No, but thank you for watching Ori, Bilba,” Thorin said, physically dragging Dori out of the room and back down the hall to the others. 

Bilba waited until the door was shut behind them to smirk. 

“First thing you should know about being a woman, Ori,” she said as the girl glanced up and she looked down, “Men are easily fooled.”

Ori giggled in her hands, and the two went back to reading the much smaller book that was hidden by the tall pages of the tome, “Size Doesn’t Matter: Fighting Styles for the Petite Woman.”

Bilba didn’t know how long the dwarves were staying, but she was going to enjoy the time while she had it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahahahahaha.


	14. Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba cuts people off. A lot.  
> Lots o' feels.  
> Pain.  
> Oh, and new ships!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I am really, really sorry for how long this took me. The past few weeks have been really busy, but here's an extra long chapter to make up for it. 
> 
> Warning: Mentions/Descriptions of Torture  
> Lots of violence and schmoop

The dwarves settled in a little awkwardly over the next three days. They knew they couldn’t stay forever but they had told everyone in Ered Luin that they were leaving for work, as many of the smiths, miners, and traders tended to do. So while they had time to spare, they also needed to find work at some point. 

Bilba quickly set up rooms for them, most having to share. Thorin’s human bed fit him and Dwalin comfortably, and Bilba let Ori sleep with her. Dori and Nori shared another room, laying soft throw blankets and covers on the floor and trading off sleeping in the bed. Bofur and Bifur did the same. 

Work was surprisingly easy to find once Bilba explained that the new dwarves were friendly and Thorin convinced Dwalin to leave his axes in Bag End. Thorin and Dwalin began working at the forge as they had done for years together, and were able to complete projects faster than ever; convincing the hobbits that perhaps having a few dwarves around wasn’t a bad idea. Bofur and Bifur restarted their toy-making, the many, many hobbit children becoming fast fans of their work. Bofur’s sweet, colorful toys were even accepted by the Bagginses, while Bifur’s frightful sculptures thrilled the Took children. 

Bilba wasn’t sure what Nori did. He stayed out at night and slept in late, and no one knew where he was most of the time. But he assured her it was nothing dangerous or terribly illegal. Bilba was a little concerned, but after all of the silverware Lobelia had ever stolen from her suddenly appeared in her kitchen drawers, she let it go. 

Dori, either out of guilt or fear, stayed at home most of the day. He helped cook and clean and take care of the kids, teaching them Khuzdul and Iglishmêk between Bilba’s lessons. His impressive strength allowed him to carry more groceries, and the two did finally compare notes on preferred teas and wines. And he didn’t say squat about gender roles. 

Fíli and Kíli were overjoyed to have a new playmate, though Ori was much less rambunctious than either of them. She did seem to ground the boys, and for that Bilba was grateful. She even began to teach the young girl how to knit. 

Overall the dwarves seemed to like the Shire. Dwalin was irritated by the hobbits’ softness and carefree attitudes, but the rest found it to be a wonderful break from the normal gloom. And the food? Well, hitting the floor face-first wasn’t Bofur’s proudest moment, but no one really blamed him. 

Bilba and Ori continued their lessons in fighting styles, but the elder realized that learning how to fight through theory was a little less effective than through practice. She and Thorin had been training and her skill was growing, but Bilba had a feeling that Thorin was holding back. Ever since their kiss he had been going easier in their training, like he was scared she would break in half. He was a decent teacher, just not for her. 

But Bilba thought the most unfortunate part was that they hadn’t been able to talk about the kiss. The other dwarves were always around, and neither could think of a way to tell them. It wasn’t that they were ashamed; both were very affirmed in their feelings and their desire to court. It was just a difficult thing to bring up in common conversation. The adults still had some sense of propriety. 

Luckily, Bofur didn’t. 

It was the evening of the third day after the dwarves’ arrival. The small company was resting in the sitting room, digesting their supper. None of the dwarves had any complaints for Bilba’s cooking, Bofur even said she could beat his brother. And the roasted pork was beloved by all. 

Thorin, Dwalin, and Nori were sitting on the couch, Thorin bouncing the boys on his knees. Dori was in a separate chair sipping a cup of tea with a doodling Ori in his lap. Bofur and Bifur shared a loveseat, carving more toys as Bilba rested in her father’s chair. Bofur began whistling a peppy tune and took out his flute as a few others picked up the song. 

“I once met blonde-haired Man,  
Who said he was the heir to Rohan.  
He was a tad sexist,  
But he should check this:  
His sister has many more fans!”

Nori’s voice was bright and clear, and the others chuckled at the verse. Dwalin picked it up next. 

“I knew an Elf from Mirkwood,  
Who was taller than a tree when he stood.  
But he was so uptight,  
He lost every fight,  
And turned up spider food!”

The warrior’s deep voice was surprisingly cheerful, and he got quite a few cheers at the lyrics. The next dwarf to cut in was Dori, Ori giggling as he sang. 

“There was a dwarf from the Iron Hills  
Who bragged on his number of kills,  
But his head got so large  
He was mistaken for a barge,  
And got an enormous clothes bill!”

There was a large laugh at that, even Thorin chuckled deeply. Bilba wondered just who they were talking about, but before she could ask, Bofur cut in with his own verse. His beamed at her with a cheeky grin and a wink, and she blushed as he caroled. 

“I once met a hobbit from the Shire  
Whose face was a thing to admire.  
She was oh so sweet,  
No lass could compete,  
But her spirit was one of fire!” 

A round of cheers followed that, and Bilba smiled blushingly. She had a hard time becoming friends with the dwarves, but it seemed they were warming up to her. 

Thorin, however, was scowling. He didn’t say anything, but Bofur certainly noticed. 

“Oh, why the long face, my lord? Jealous of the attention?” the miner chuckled. The others laughed too, but Thorin continued to frown. 

“I think you should watch your tone,” he growled, “Before you say something to offend her.”

“T’was only a compliment,” Bofur said genially. Thorin huffed but remained silent, Bilba giggling at his protectiveness. 

“Really Thorin, it’s fine,” she assured him, “Nothing improper about a little song.”

“Aye, but since when has Bofur cared about propriety?” Nori said jokingly. 

“Oh, Nori, that hurts,” Bofur said, faking a wounded look. “I thought we were closer than that.”

“You know we are,” Nori said slyly and blew him a kiss. Bofur caught it with an exaggerated swoon. “Hey Bifur!” Nori called, “Mind trading rooms for the night?” 

“Nori!” Dori scolded, sounding scandalized. He already had his hands over Ori’s ears and was red-faced. “Stop that! For pities’ sake there are children! Take your canoodling somewhere private before I—“

“Oh shut up, Dori,” Dwalin cut in darkly. He glared into his tankard of ale and his nostrils flared angrily. “Let them enjoy their damn time together.” The others quieted and glanced around, more than one biting their lips. 

Dis’s death had gone untouched as a topic of conversation. While Thorin had been more or less able to mourn and still had his nephews and Bilba to keep him cheerful, Dwalin only had his older brother, who was usually out, forced to work with the very monsters who had been in that mob. Dwalin had to go through the days surrounded by the people who hated and murdered his princess, his soon-to-be wife. 

His broken heart had been somewhat mended by the boys. They were still alive, healthy and happy. He wasn’t overjoyed about how much they adored their new caretaker, but Thorin spoke well of her, so what could he say?

The solemn, fragile silence was broken when Dwalin spoke again. 

“And you didn’t seem to care about propriety when my brother had you bent over a desk.” 

Dori sucked in air as his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Nori would have guffawed at the sight if he wasn’t already choking on his ale in a fit of laughter. Bofur was on the ground, looking like he was dying but only a smile on his face. Bilba had a hand over her mouth, trying to hold back her laughs until they burst out in squeaks. Thorin just rolled his eyes. 

Really, his nephews were sitting right there. 

“Dwalin!” Dori tried to say, though it came out in stutters. 

“What’s the problem, Uncle?” Fíli asked innocently. 

“Yeah, we saw Bofuh and Nori kiss lots of times in Ered Luin,” Kíli added. Thorin’s eyebrows flew up at that. As did Dwalin’s and Bilba’s. Even Nori cocked an eyebrow as Bofur flushed. 

“Ori even drew pictures!” Fíli said. 

“WHAT?!!?!?” Dori yelped and stared down at the girl in his lap. Ori sat up straight and beamed proudly. Bilba had wondered how the girl had gotten so good at drawing people. Now she knew. 

“It’s not like we’ve never seen people kiss before,” Kíli rolled his eyes. 

“Mama kissed Papa lots of times. And a while after Papa passed Mister Dwalin kissed her,” Fíli elaborated, and Dwalin failed to fight off the blush in his cheeks as Thorin gave him a look. 

“And we saw Uncle Thorin and Bilba kissing just a few days ago when they thought we were asleep!” Kíli exclaimed. Suddenly he gasped and his hands slapped to his mouth as he realized the slip, but it was too late. Thorin and Bilba both paled and blushed as they stared at the boys, the rest of the dwarves watching the couple. 

For a moment, the only sound in the smial was the crackling fire. 

Then there was very, very large amount of noise.

“OF ALL THE INDECENT THINGS—“

“Well it’s about damn time, Thorin—“

“I’m sorry, Uncle! I didn’t mean to—“

“Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu.”

“AHAHAHAAHAHAHAA—“

“We were just going to get a glass of water and—“

Thorin and Bilba just sighed and sat back, ignoring the commotion. 

“It’s fine, boys. It’s fine,” Thorin murmured and set them in Dwalin’s lap. “I’m going to get another ale.” 

Bilba watched him wade out of the chaos with a bemused smile. More than likely the Tooks would have the same reaction as the dwarves, but with more shovel talk. The Bagginses would be scandalized for a bit, but Bilba thought that the looks on their faces might be worth the trouble. 

“Well, you have my congratulations, Lady Bilba,” Bofur said with a small bow, “You did what no other woman could and dug your way into our king’s heart. Not an easy task, mind you.” 

“Aye! A round of applause for our dear hobbit! May you ever distract him from our mischief,” Nori grinned. “You shall be a glorious queen.” 

Bilba flustered and blushed, “Now, gentlemen, it’s not like that! We’re just courting!”

“And living together,” Dori muttered. 

Bifur said something short and pointed (as far as Bilba could tell) in Khuzdul, and Dori reddened even further. 

“I’m simply saying they should have a chaperone!” Dori exclaimed. 

“Oh yes, you know how Thorin’s raging teenage hormones distract him from his brooding. We really should separate him from one of the few things that doesn’t make him hate the world,” Bofur replied. 

“It’s not like she will ever be our queen,” Dwalin added, rather darkly and all heads flicked to him. 

“And why is that, guardsman?” Nori asked. It sounded like he was asking an innocent question, but Dori recognized the bait. 

“Because she is not one of us,” he growled back. Fíli and Kíli stared up at him, brows furrowed in both confusion and anger. Bilba was slightly taken aback, a hand over her heart and a wounded look. When no one replied or cut in, Dwalin stood up and continued. “She might be sweet and kind but she is no dwarf. This hobbit may have charmed our king with her food and soft bed,” (Bilba wasn’t sure if he meant Thorin’s actual bed or if he was insinuating they had slept together), “But she knows nothing of us or our lives or our ways!” He reared on her, glowering at her with a look that was colder than ice. “You know nothing of what it means to be a dwarf. You are not one of us. You are not part of this family, so stop trying to worm your way in!” 

Bilba’s face heated as she felt the tears begin to rise. She curled back into the chair, instinct from the Prancing Pony incident taking over. It wasn’t as if she could hit him for being mean. She wanted to defend herself but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Everything he had said was…true. 

She glanced over the shoulder, shooting a pleading look at the other dwarves. But they were staring past her and Dwalin, to the doorway behind them. 

“Dwalin.” 

Thorin’s voice was low and cold and Bilba could only guess how livid he looked in the doorway. Dwalin snapped to attention, the smallest twinge of worry in his eye. 

“Thorin, I—“

“Mister Dwalin, shut up!” Fíli shouted. All of the adults spun to look at the little boy, standing defiantly and furiously in front of the couch. Kíli sat behind him, appearing both outraged and sorrowful as he stared at his idol. “You know nothing of her, either! You don’t get to decide who we be close to! Ms. Bilba is wonderful and kind and caring and you are no more our parent than she is!” 

Fíli spoke with astounding eloquence for his age, rage fueling his words. This time it was Dwalin that looked wounded, as Kíli nodded frequently with his brother’s words. 

“We lost Papa because of an accident and Mama because of bad people and we can’t lose anyone else!” Kíli exclaimed desperately. 

“Boys, I was just…” Dwalin tried hoarsely. 

“You were just feeling threatened by a tiny hobbit lady,” Fíli hissed. Dwalin blinked open-mouthed at Fíli and then turned to his brother. Kíli shook his head almost violently at his pleading look and jumped off the couch. He dashed past Dwalin and hopped into Bilba’s arms in her chair, wet eyes glinting in the firelight. Bilba stared down at him incredulously, and then up at Dwalin. She hadn’t meant for this to happen! He looked so pained she gave him an apologetic face. The other dwarves were more than just shocked by their actions. Ori thought she must be hallucinating. When had Kíli ever chosen someone else over Mister Dwalin?

“Oh Kíli,” Bilba said quietly, gently holding him in her arms, “Sshhhh, it’s alright.” She glanced up at the dwarves who were watching her with worried faces. “I’ll just put him to bed,” she whispered to them, and rose from her seat. The men watched as she whisked the crying lad down the hall, Fíli speeding after her. 

And then it was silent in the sitting room. 

Dwalin turned to Thorin, unsure of what to say. Thorin’s glare at him could have leveled mountains. 

“I braided that bead in her hair for a reason,” he seethed, speaking of the sign of dwarf-friend they had all noticed in the past days. “But she is far more than a friend to us. Say what you will about the relationship between her and I, but she means the world to those boys. Bilba is the closest thing they have to a mother and is more than worthy of being called kin.” 

Thorin’s speech struck more than one chord with the dwarves. Let it be said he has a way with words, and is not one to trust easily. The company nodded automatically to him. 

“Dis’s death was a tragedy and an outrage,” Thorin said with new softness, “But Bilba has only ever tried to help. Fíli and Kíli will never forget their mother but one day they may be able to heal the scars left upon them. All we can do is mourn her loss and continue on.”

The dwarves nodded silently, sharing sad glances at one another. After a few quiet moments, Ori gently squirmed out of her brother’s arms to find Bilba.

\--------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t mean for Mister Dwalin to get so mad at you,” Kíli whispered wetly into Bilba’s hair as she carried him down the hall, away from the dwarves. 

“He was out of line,” Fíli said quietly, sounding frighteningly similar to his uncle. Bilba sighed and pushed open the door to their room, moving to sit on Kíli’s bed. She rocked him in her arms as Fíli sat next to her on the soft mattress. 

“Mister Dwalin is distraught. He obviously loved your mother very, very much and he is still hurting,” she soothed, Kíli sniffling at the mention of his mother. 

“But he shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Fíli said stubbornly, folding his arms. 

“No, he shouldn’t have,” Bilba agreed, “But I understand. I was not a happy person after my parents’ deaths, and you two were pretty sad as well, weren’t you?” 

The boys nodded solemnly. 

“And so was Thorin. Loss hurts people. And sometimes it’s easier to be angry than sad. But getting mad at Mister Dwalin won’t help anyone. All we can do is try to help him.” 

Bilba gently pulled the brothers closer to her, ruffling Fíli’s hair. They hugged her back, and Kíli held on like his life depended on it. When Fíli pulled away slightly, Bilba slipped Kíli under his covers, the younger brother giving a babyish yawn. Bilba turned to look at Fíli, who was staring crossly at the floor. 

“Fíli?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“What’s wrong?”

No response. 

“I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.”

With a huff his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“My family is broken,” Fíli whispered dejectedly. “My great-grandfather doomed his kingdom and my grandfather disappeared from it. My mother was killed by people I thought were my friends. My father was the only one who was not a warrior and he died in an accident!” Fíli choked back a sob, and Bilba felt Kíli tense under the blankets as she pulled the blonde closer. “Uncle Thorin barely made it here and so did we. And I’m supposed to grow up to be a king?” His head snapped up to face Bilba, swirling blue eyes studying her. “Bilba, I’m scared. The last good thing that happened to us was meeting you, and people keep trying to ruin it. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh, Fíli,” she comforted sadly, “I know, I know. I don’t want any of you to get hurt either. Things will get better, I promise.” 

He looked up at her with scared, skeptical eyes. Fíli opened his mouth to speak when they heard a small knock at the door. 

“Yes?” Bilba beckoned. 

The door cracked open slowly to reveal a concerned-looking Ori. She was clutching fold of her over-sized cardigan in her hands and biting her lip. 

“Are you all okay?” she asked quietly. Bilba rubbed Fíli’s back and smiled at the girl softly. 

“We will be. I think it would be best if you kids got to bed though.” Fíli nodded and jumped off Kíli’s bed and crawled into his own as Bilba strode to the door and scooped up Ori. 

“Everything will be better in the morning, boys. You just get some rest,” Bilba said as she closed their bedroom door behind her. Ori hugged her close. Bilba thought she could hear a few voices echoing from the sitting room but she ignored them as she entered her and Ori’s shared room. 

“Fíli puts too much pressure on himself,” Ori said as Bilba tucked her in. 

“I noticed. has he always been like that?”

“Yeah. Whenever we went to play he was always told to watch over me and Kíli. And he is going to be king someday. He blames himself when things go wrong.”

“Well, we’ll just have to teach him to let things go, won’t we?” Bilba said with a conniving smirk. Ori nodded vehemently. 

“I’m sorry about Mister Dwalin,” Ori said suddenly. Bilba sighed. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. And it’s not entirely his fault either.”

“He yelled at you!”

“He was upset. Mister Dwalin just lost the woman he loved and her killers are not facing justice. I would be just as distressed.”

“Doesn’t make it right…”

“No. No, it doesn’t. But holding a grudge never helps anything. If we want to move forward, we must be able to forgive and forget.” 

Ori crossed her arms and huffed in disagreement. Bilba held back a chuckle. The girl was more than a little adorable all wrapped up in covers, cozy as a kitten. Then Ori glanced up at her with unsure eyes. 

“Bilba? Do you think it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?” 

“If you are asking in a general sense then I think everyone will have a different answer to that,” Bilba said, “But if you are asking for my personal experience, then I would say yes. Most of the joy in my life has come from the people I’ve loved. My parents, friends and family, including you dwarves. When I lost my parents it was very painful, but I know the pain is only a sign of how much joy they brought me.” 

Ori considered her words for a moment before replying almost too soft for Bilba to hear, “I never met my parents.”

It was a bit of a shock to Bilba’s system. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. She had known Dori and Nori were her brothers but…

“I’m so sorry,” Bilba whispered, petting Ori’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Da ran out before I was born,” Ori said with a surprising amount of bitterness, but her expression quickly softened. “Mam died giving birth to me. Dori brought me up.” 

“I’m sorry you never met her. I’m sure she would have loved you very much.”

“Nori says she always wanted a girl. Is it because I was that she—“

“No. Ori, no. Her death is not your fault,” Bilba declared, “It was a sad and unfortunate accident but you cannot blame yourself. It does no one any good and is not true besides.” Ori nodded with a solemn face and Bilba gave her a reassuring smile. “Now you need your rest too. We have a lot of learning to do tomorrow.” That got a grin out of the girl, and she tucked down into the pillows. Bilba rose from the bed and tip-toed to the door, wanting to get back to the dwarves. She padded down the hall and heard their voices wafting from the other room. 

They didn’t seem to be fighting any more, just talking quietly. She made it to the doorway and paused, assessing the situation. Dori was still in his chair with Nori standing next to him and the brothers chatted quietly. Bofur was whistling softly while he and his cousin carved toys on the loveseat. Thorin and Dwalin sat stiffly at the far ends of the couch, avoiding eye contact with anyone. 

“The kids are in bed,” she said, breaking the near-silence. The dwarves turned to her, a fragile tension throughout the room. Thorin stood from his seat and stepped to her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Huh?” she replied, “Oh, yes, of course. I’m fine. The kids however…”

“What’s wrong with Ori?” Dori gasped and jumped from his seat. Nori stood just behind him, tensed and still. 

“And the boys?” Thorin asked. 

“They’re all just a bit…heavy-hearted. Fíli especially. They’re all worried about their families.”

“Wonder why…”Bofur muttered, casting a dark glance at Dwalin which the warrior ignored. 

“They’re scared they are going to lose more of the people they care about. After what they’ve gone through I’m not surprised, but we need to help them.”

“We will,” Thorin assured, “But we need to sleep first. We should get a solid rest tonight and we can discuss what to do in the morning.” 

The dwarves nodded, rising and stretching and heading off to their rooms. Thorin glanced behind him at Dwalin, whose were still focused on the fire in front of him. The dwarf king looked back at Bilba who cocked her head towards the hall. She could handle this. Thorin gave a small nod and strode past her, and finally it was just Dwalin and Bilba. She took a deep breath and sat down next to him. After a moment, he spoke. 

“My Lady, I’m—“

“I’m not a Lady, Dwalin,” she cut in, staring him in the eye but with a kind look. “I’m not a princess or queen and I’m certainly not Dis. I’ll never be her. I’m not Fíli and Kíli’s mother and I’m not a dwarf and I’m not knowledgeable in all things dwarvish.” 

He gazed at her with a crumbling face, recalling all the things he had screamed at her, this poor woman who had taken in his king and almost-step-sons. How could he have let his rage overcome him? He was raised better than that! Trained better than that! Thorin was courting this woman for pities’ sake!

“I must apologize for my words they were cruel and undeserved,” he said quickly, “If there is anything I can do—“

“Can you teach me to fight?” 

Dwalin blinked. 

That was not expected. 

“It’s just that Thorin has been teaching me the basics with my sword but I think he’s been going a bit soft since we kissed. Look,” Bilba sighed, “Whatever pride I may have doesn’t distract me from the fact that if I had to fight you, or someone like you, I’d be dead in a minute. When I heard you all busting in I was sure we were dead. How was I supposed to protect Fíli and Kíli from one of you, much less six? Now Kíli told me that you train the guards in Ered Luin, that you’re one of the best at the job. Could you give me a few lessons, while you’re here?”

Dwalin blinked at her again. 

“If my king would prefer to train you I think he might be displeased if I—“

“You can have a king that is displeased with you because you taught the woman he was courting how to fight, or you can have a king that is even more emotionally traumatized because the woman he was courting and possibly his nephews were murdered while he was out. Take your pick.”

And what could he say to that?

\----------------------------------------------------

Dwalin was an excellent teacher. While the first lesson had been a bit difficult as student and master learned each other’s personalities (and Thorin standing at the edge of the field with a scowl didn’t help anything) both soon became accustomed to the other. Dwalin discovered Bilba learned better with positive reinforcement and practicing movements slowly, and Bilba grew aware of how hard she needed to push herself. 

She did come home with a few new bruises each time, and while Fíli, Kíli, and Ori plotted revenge in her honor, Bilba almost liked the marks. They were a sign of growing strength. After each practice session there would be fewer dark splotches than the last. The pain wasn’t fun, but she tried to take pride in it. 

Life fell into a pattern. Thorin and Dwalin would work at the forges most days, Dwalin leaving early every other day to train Bilba. Bofur and Bifur continued to carve for the kids, and Ori quickly found friends in the young hobbit lasses. The Tooks and Brandybucks loved her stories of faraway places and fantastic tales of adventure, while even the Bagginses girls liked her dainty handwriting and eloquent speech. And, of course, they all demanded she do their hair. 

Nori spent much of his time out of everyone else’s way, but was always there long enough to give a helping hand with the children or cooking, and was a very polite guest. 

Bilba and Dori’s friendship grew, discussing teas and wines, sewing and knitting, and the different forms of propriety in each culture. Dori spent much of his time at the smial, schooling the children and Bilba in Iglishmêk. Whenever Bilba was busy he would teach them Khuzdul, for even if she was a dwarf-friend there was still a wall between her and their entire culture. Of course, whenever Dori was out shopping or chasing his brother or talking with Thorin, Bilba would teach the children more Sindarin. Ori had caught up to the boys impressively fast, and the kids could hold a basic conversation without too many mispronunciations. 

In return, they taught her the day’s lesson in Khuzdul. 

And when the boys went out to play in the yard Bilba and Ori would sit back on the bench, silently studying fighting techniques under the guise of sweet fairytales. Bilba didn’t want Ori to learn how to actually fight yet; even the boys weren’t being trained, and if Bilba was her only teacher then someone would probably get hurt. But strategies were better than nothing. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

It was a warm evening a week later when Dwalin was instructing Bilba how to fend off an axe that Bilba thought of something. 

“Dwalin?” she asked when they paused for a water break, “What happened after Thorin left? I mean that night, if it’s not too…”

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. Dwalin took a quick swig from the water jug and swallowed hard. It took a second for him to find his words, but he eventually turned back to her. “I took Dis’s body back to our cabin as Balin distracted the mob. Buried her and forced myself to not go out and murder them all. That was about it.”

“So she had a funeral?” 

“Yes. But nothing like the one she deserved,” he answered, not meeting her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Bilba said solemnly. “But I was wondering…Thorin and the boys never got to have a funeral for her. They mourned but I don’t think they really got a chance to…accept the fact she was gone. Do you think we could have a memorial or something? I think it might help Fíli a lot.” 

Dwalin stopped. 

His chest felt tight and hollow like it hadn’t in weeks. He gripped his axe tighter, swallowing hard. His mind raced through what dwarves normally saw as public and private, personal or communal, and realized at that point he didn’t give a damn. Screw the other dwarves. 

“Aye, we could do that.”

\---------------------------------------------

Dis’s memorial was held in Bilba’s backyard on a warm evening in the Shire, hundreds of miles from the two places the princess had ever called home. Under a cloudy purple sky the nine dwarves and lone hobbit stood as glowing chars and smoke floated up from the smial behind them. The air was nice, cozy but not steamy, and it seemed like a fitting night. 

Under the largest, strongest oak tree, with its branches spreading high and wide over the company, was a small mountain of rocks. They weren’t special rocks, not all of them, just ones the group had found and piled together. Up to Bilba’s shoulders, the misshapen balls of granite, shale, sandstone, gneiss, and marble stood as a monument for the lost princess. 

It is said that dwarves were strewn from the rocks themselves, and when they die their bodies return to it. 

Dis’s could not. 

This was all they could do to make up for it. 

All of the dwarves had done something special for her. Bifur had made a statue of her in armor with a sword in hand, slaying Smaug. He had even managed to calm down his hair enough for it to fall flat during the ceremony. Bofur had carved a flute for her, remembering how much she had loved singing while he played. He stood with his hat in his hand and wet eyes as the sun set. Nori had brought fine jewelry and a little gold from Ered Luin and deposited that in her honor, and did not say a single sarcastic or insensitive thing the entire evening. Dis had always appreciated his humor, when it was appropriate. Dori had bought fine blue silk in Bree, the princess’s favorite color and laid it with the other gifts without forming it, so that she could decide what she wanted it to be in her afterlife. Each gift was buried gently under the rocks, never to be seen again. 

Ori had drawn a portrait of her from memory, complete with color and a poem beside it. Kíli had given her his wooden sword to show his love. Fíli laid down his old booties, the last thing he had of her. She had made them the winter prior and they were still in good condition. When Thorin asked why he wanted to give them Fíli answered “So she has something to remember us.”

Bilba couldn’t think of anything she couod give in a dwarvish way that would be truly appropriate, so she made a large flower crown, wide enough to fit around the mountain’s mid-section. It was braided with blue forget-me-nots for remembrance, gladiolus for strength, pink roses for grace, and buttercups for riches. Hobbits usually used flower crowns for weddings, but it was not rare for them to be used in funerals for the well-loved.

Dwalin buried the ring he had planned to give her, a silver band dotted with amethyst and a large garnet in the center. Thorin forged a tiara; silver but strong, with the Durin emblem in the center and sapphires along the sides. It was a fraction of the wealth she would have had in Erebor, but Dis had never been one for excess. 

In front of the stone pile was a gold plaque and it read:

 

_In honor of Dis, Daughter of Thrain, Princess of Erebor_   
_Mother, Sister, Wife, Friend_   
_May her sacrifice remind all of what is truly important_

 

One by one, the dwarves slowly left as twilight turned to dusk. Bifur, then Bofur, then Nori. Dori pulled Ori towards the smial but not before she squeezed Fíli’s hand in comfort. And soon it was just Dwalin, the Durins, and Bilba. She gently rested a hand on Thorin’s shoulder and they shared a look. She kneeled down and kissed each of the boys on their little head. When she rose, she gave Dwalin an understanding nod, and went back to her home. 

\--------------------------------------------------

They all knew not everything would be perfect after memorial. It couldn’t fix everything. But Fíli and Kíli brightened up and Dwalin and Thorin were less tense and Bilba was more readily accepted. They believed the worst was behind them. 

They were very, very wrong. 

\---------------------------------------------------

It was a peaceful evening in Bag End. 

Thorin and all of the dwarves had gone out for a night at the Green Dragon while Bilba watched the kids. She didn’t mind really. She was happy that Thorin was finally getting a chance to spend time with his old friends. Bilba knew they wouldn’t be in the Shire forever. They had gone out a little over an hour earlier after supper, leaving Bilba and the kids to catch up on their Khuzdul and Sindarin, and maybe a few stories before bed. 

The children were just starting to drift off on the couch. Ori was struggling to keep her eyes open and on the book while Fíli was entirely leaning against her, no longer able to stay upright. Kíli was knocked out on the couch. Biba sighed and scooped him up and he mumbled in her shoulder sleepily, earning a chuckle. She was about to put him to bed when there was a knock on the door. 

Bilba hadn’t suspected them home so early. The dwarves claimed to have the highest alcohol-tolerance of any race, but of course they had never had true hobbit liquor. Even Thorin was in for a surprise. Her ale was for lightweights! So she assumed it had to be one or two of the dwarves, possibly carrying another too drunk to walk. 

She meant to put Kíli to down while she got the door but he clung with surprising strength to her vest, and she carried him to the lobby. She swung the door open with a humored “Yes?” but then her blood ran cold. 

There were dwarves. 

But they were not her dwarves. 

She barely had a second to spin and scream “RUN!” to Fíli and Ori from the lobby before the blunt metal crashed on the back of her head and everything went black. 

\------------------------------------------------

Her mind was dazed and throbbing when she awoke. 

Bilba realized she was tied tightly to one of the dining room chairs, but the table had been pushed to the side. In front of her were Fíli and Kíli, equally restrained. The room seemed to be moving a bit but she could make out three forms behind them. Three male dwarves, fierce and armed. 

“Oh look, she’s awake,” one said. 

No, oh please no. 

“How much do you think she knows?” another asked. 

The boys…not the boys…

“Not much. Wench didn’t even put up a fight,” the last answered. 

Stupid lessons didn’t do much good…

“Well let’s double-check that, shall we?” the first one spoke again. He strolled towards her, past the boys who were frozen in fear. The first dwarf was about as tall as Thorin but slightly leaner, with a thick dirty-blond mane and braided beard. He had stormy gray eyes that glinted like daggers. It just so happened he pulled a dagger out. 

The blade was long and smoothly sharp. It could have shaved the hair off her feet. 

“Hello, lass,” he said with a dark smirk, “Come here often?”

Bilba didn’t answer. She kept her eyes focused on the boys. They didn’t look harmed, just terrified. She swallowed hard and tried to put on a strong face. But wait—

Where was Ori?!

“I said, lass,” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of her hair so tightly it hurt, “Come here often?”

“Go to the Halls of Mandos,” she snapped back, her foggy mind clearing with anger. 

He glared and released her hair, only to pull his hand back and strike her. The back of his hand felt like iron against her cheek and the crack of the slap made the boys wince. There would be a bruise there later. 

“Willorn,” the second one said, walking to the other side of her, “That’s not going to help.” This one was much thicker, about Bofur’s height but more stocky, with graying hair and simple braids. 

“You want me to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, Tomorus?” Willorn scowled. 

“No. Just ask what we actually need to know,” Tomorus said like the other was slow, “Now Miss Hobbit, would you mind telling us where Thorin Oakenshield is?”

Bilba clenched her jaw. She couldn’t tell them. She wouldn’t betray Thorin. If she said he was out, the dwarves could just kill her and the boys and try to corner Thorin in town. He had the others with him, but they were unarmed. Of course, if she managed to stall long enough for Thorin and the others to return, most would be drunk. 

“Miss Hobbit?” 

This time it was Tomorus who struck her when she was silent. Kíli whimpered and Fíli growled, and she tried to glare at them to shut up. The less attention on them, the better. 

“And why won’t you tell us?” the third one spoke finally. He had straight, dark red hair braided loosely. Bilba was pretty sure one of his eyes was crossed. 

“She’s not going to answer, Bertil,” Willorn said. He twirled the knife again. “But I can think of something that would make her squeal.” His grin was sadistic and the evil glint in his eye made Bilba tense. He shifted the blade closer to her, until it was pressed flush against her cheek. “Any ideas now, wench?” She could feel the knife pressing harder, the point would draw blood soon if he kept it up. 

“Fíli, Kíli, close your eyes,” she ordered. They couldn’t see this. 

“But Bilba—“

“Now Fíli.”

The dwarves glanced at the boys. 

“Bilba, is it?” Tomorus asked. A manic grin spread across Willorn’s face. A dark voice in Bilba’s head laughed ‘Who’s crafty and sadistic now?’ 

“Look, Bilba,” Tomorus said, and she began to think him the leader, “Why don’t you just tell us where Thorin is and we’ll be out of your hair.” 

“You would kill us all anyway,” she said with a dry growl. 

“Well, yes, of course we will,” Willorn said like she was the slow one, “This is just you deciding how much you want to suffer beforehand.”

“The boys are innocent,” she snarled. 

“Their forebearers are not,” Tomorus growled back. “I’m going to assume you know little to nothing about dwarves since you took this lot in,” he said, waving his hand at the boys, “So let me fill you in on the battle of Azanulbizar.” All the dwarves’ faces darkened at the name, and Bilba forced herself to ignore the sweat pouring down her neck. “After his own goldlust made us lose our only home, King Thror ordered every able-bodied dwarf to march on Moria, in an attempt to take back the old mines,” he said with utter disdain and disgust, “It was a slaughter. Our so-called King was dead, and the next in his line abandoned us. Not only did we not win back Khazad-dum, but our numbers were decimated! We lost so many that day we still do not know the exact number. Fathers, brothers, sons—Do you know how many women and children starved because they no longer had a miner or forger in the family? You cannot even imagine the pain that battle caused. All because of the line of Durin.”

“The boys were born long after the battle,” Bilba argued, “They had no power of it or anything that has followed. You cannot blame them.” 

“We don’t,” Willorn said curtly, “But they are destined for the same failure. If we kill them, we prevent a second or third Azanulbizar from ever taking place. We spare a slaughter.”

“They have done nothing wrong!” 

This time he punched her. She had thought his smacks were hard. His fist was worse. 

Willorn lifted the knife to her face again. 

“One last chance, halfling. Where is Oakenshield?” 

“One last chance, dwarf. Let us go now and he might kill you quickly.”

And the real beatings began. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

There were times in her life Ori did not like her body.

As she sprinted down the dirt road towards the Green Dragon, she found this was one of them. 

She had never been athletic or strong-backed like the other girls. Even for her gender she was light and slender. Her skin was not as thick or hardy as most dwarves’, and she coughed any time she smelled smoke or soot. Ori often felt clumsy, lacking Nori’s nimble movements and Dori sturdy stride. 

Some said it was because of her birth. She had been born early, and without her mother’s nursing she had always been a tiny baby. But many women died in childbirth; it was unfortunately common, and Ori was still small for her race. 

Most of the time she did not care. She had a talent for drawing and writing and Master Balin even said she had a gift, that she could be a Master Scribe when she grew up. So Ori had forgotten the usual dwarf customs of strength and power and turned to the arts. Dori and Nori were proud and supportive, and she enjoyed what she did. Nothing else mattered. 

Until she had to run for her life. 

When she and Fíli heard Bilba scream and Kíli’s wail, they had looked at each other. An unusual understanding passed between them. A realization. The dwarves would be looking for Fíli and Kíli. Not her. She could escape. She could get Thorin and Dori and Nori and all the others. So Ori ran out the back door as Fíli ran through the house, trying to distract the invaders. 

It wasn’t her proudest moment. When she and Bilba studied there was a small part of her that wanted someone to pick a fight just so she could show her stuff. 

But that wouldn’t have worked. 

Neither she nor Bilba liked the idea of calling on men to save them, but Ori thought living was a bit more important than pride. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Her green vest was now splattered with red, her arms and legs trembling in their restraints. Fíli and Kíli were crying, openly but quietly, eyes shut tight. Bilba continued to tell the boys to keep them closed, and that everything was going to be okay. Each comfort earned a strike to her face, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She had to protect them. 

Willorn really was a sadist. Apparently he had lost all of his brothers in Azanulbizar and was happy to take it out on anyone. Tomorus was definitely the leader, the only thing holding Willorn back, and only when he wanted to ask questions. Bilba never answered. She had to protect them. 

Bilba didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She didn’t beg. She tried to hold everything in, because whenever a pained gasp or wincing whine passed her lips, the brothers sobbed even harder. She couldn’t let them hear. She could let them see. She had to protect them. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Thorin was having a great night.

It was like they had gone back in time, spending a night at the pub with good friends and good food, but this time they had plenty of money! Bofur was already tipsy and he and Nori were singing and laughing and telling lewd jokes. Dori was stuttering at the impropriety, but liked the nice meal he had ordered. Bifur was eating the flowery centerpiece. Dwalin was in his second or third tankard, grinning wider than he had in weeks. Even Thorin was smiling. 

“Oi, dwarves!” some friendly voice called from somewhere in the tavern. “This little one yours?” he asked. The dwarves turned to look from their seats. Holding a random hobbit man’s hand was Ori. 

Red-faced, tear-streaked Ori, who was choking on her own sobs. 

“Ori!” Dori exclaimed, and dashed to his sister, scooping her up. “What happened?! What are you doing here? Where is Bilba?” 

Ori wailed louder, and the dwarves evacuated the tavern. She clung to Dori desperately, and both her brothers looked horrified at each other. What happened to their sister?!

“Ori, shhh, Ori, what’s wrong? You need to tell us what happened,” Nori whispered. 

“Dwarves!” she cried, “They got Bilba and Fíli and Kíli!” 

Every stomach in the group dropped in a second. Thorin’s blood ran cold everyone went disturbingly still. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect them but they were really big and I didn’t know what else to do and-and—“

“It’s fine, Ori,” Dori lied, his voice barely steady, “We’ll take care of it.”

The dwarves looked around their group. Dwalin’s grin was long gone, a grim and enraged face taking over. Bofur suddenly seemed much more sober and his features were dark. Bifur’s eyes were wide and angry, his hair appeared to have popped up even spikier than usual. Dori held his sister close, petting her hair and gulping hard. Nori had a hand on her back, looking unusually weary. 

“We have to go,” Dwalin said. 

“We are completely unarmed,” Thorin groaned. Nori snorted. Dwalin snapped a glare at him, until Nori started pulling knives. 

“Amateurs,” he muttered, as he pulled blade after blade out of his clothes, handing them to the others. 

“If Bilba or the boys have been harmed,” Thorin said darkly, “You know what to do.”

\-------------------------------------------------

“This isn’t working,” Tomorus sighed. Willorn shrugged.

“You’re right. But it is fun.”

“Where’s Bertil?” 

“Said something about getting a snack.”

And as if on cue, Bertil strode into the dining room a moment later, carrying a large platter of food. 

“Have you seen her pantry?” he laughed, “It’s enormous! She’s got honey-smoked ham and scones and tomatoes like I’ve never seen!” 

Bilba tried to glare at him. No one touched her pantry without her permission and walked away with their fingers. And no one took her tomatoes if they wanted to keep their tongue. Unfortunately, her eyes were almost swollen shut, so there wasn’t much she could do. 

“Trust Bertil to go for the food,” Willorn muttered, and then glanced back at Bilba. An evil smile crept up his face as he kneeled down in front of her and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “But I can think of something I’d like a taste of…”

“Not now, Willorn. We have more important things to get to. Let’s try the boys,” Tomorus ordered. 

“No!” Bilba shrieked. The dwarves snapped to her. 

“Oh, I think we’ve got something,” Willorn grinned. 

“Don’t…don’t hurt them,” she pleaded. She hung her head, weak, hurt, and exhausted. What choice did she have?

“Where is Thorin Oakenshield?” Tomorus asked once more.

“Closer than you think.”

Suddenly Bertil’s head was pulled back, and a knife slit through his throat. His scream was gurgled with blood, as the red liquid poured from his neck. A familiar three-peaked hairstyle appeared from behind him, and when his body fell to the floor, Nori was standing there, armed and dangerous. Tomorus roared and ran, heading for the front door. 

When he opened it, he was met with Dwalin, Bofur, and a very large shovel. 

Willorn, cursing his friends’ stupidity, ran through the house. He had searched the place thoroughly while the others had been tying their prisoners up, and knew the best hiding places. Nori let Thorin in the backdoor, and the hunt was on. 

Dwalin was hog-tying an unconscious Tomorus as Bofur rushed in to release the others. 

When he made it to the dining room, he thought he was going to be sick. 

“Oh Mahal…Bilba?” he asked horrified. 

“Bofur?” she whimpered weakly. 

“It’s…it’s going to be okay, lass. We’re going to get you out of here.” The boys appeared relatively unharmed so he hurried to untie Bilba. He gulped, smelling the blood soaked into her clothes. When her wrists were unbound and her torso released from the chair, she took a shaky deep breath. Her hands trembled in her lap as he unknotted the ropes around her ankles and legs. 

“Thorin! Get in here!” Bofur called, uncaring of the hunt for the monster. Thorin stormed into the room, and froze, his blood running cold. 

“Bilba?” 

Bofur turned to untie the boys, trying to give them some sense of privacy. She peered up at Thorin through purple, swollen eyes. Her cheeks were black and blue, her nose bleeding and her lips busted and scabbed. There was a bloodied bump on her head, surrounded by blood-matted hair where they had first struck her. Her wrists and ankles were covered in bleeding scabs, chafed and worn from the restraints. 

But the worst part was the cuts. 

Shallow, deliberate slashes darted up and down her body. One was just under her left collar bone and followed its curve, another cut mirrored it but over the other collar. There was a short one that curled down her right breast, and one more stretched under her bosom across her abs. they went down her body, the blade having sliced through her now-stained clothes. Her leg hair was matted with it. A few went across her upper arms, more down her thighs. They were non-lethal, perfect for torture, and already scabbing. 

She didn’t answer him. 

“Are they alright?” she asked, and her voice cracked from a dry throat. 

“They’re fine,” Thorin said automatically. He kneeled down by her side, and cautiously reached up with one hand, afraid to touch her. “We should get you out of here. One of them is still in Bag End.”

She nodded softly, and began to rise, but sank to her knees with a shriek. 

“I can’t –I can’t…” 

“I’ve got you,” he said, and he gently helped her up, taking an arm over his shoulders and holding her weight. They began to leave the room, a sniffling Fíli and Kíli behind them, Bofur herding them all towards the kitchen. 

“Thorin!” Dwalin roared from across the house. Thorin’s head spun but he didn’t move from Bilba’s arms. 

“Go,” she coughed, meeting his eye, “Get him.” 

Thorin nodded and handed her off to Bofur. Thorin dashed through the house. He was going to get this bastard. 

But he was met with bad news. 

“We can’t find him anywhere,” Nori growled. 

“You checked all the rooms?” 

“The bathrooms, bedrooms, pantries, cellar, and sitting rooms,” Dwalin said grimly. “If he had popped out the front Bifur would’ve got him, and Dori was watching the back.” 

“Then where—“

“NO! You son of a—“ Bofur’s roar from across the smial cut him off. 

They hadn’t checked the kitchen. 

Thorin, Dwalin, and Nori sprinted through the halls. Thorin had two of Nori’s knives and Dwalin still carried one of Bilba’s larger shovels from the back yard. They skidded to a halt in the doorway behind Bofur, Fíli crouching behind him. 

Willorn stood between them and a wide-open cabinet, his hiding space exposed. 

And he had Kíli in his arms, a knife to the boy’s throat. 

“Well, if it isn’t the great Thorin Oakenshield,” he said wildly with disdain. “Come to save what’s left of your accursed family?” 

Thorin’s hands clenched around the knives he was carrying. What he would have given for a sword. He stepped forward on instinct, but Willorn just pressed the blade harder against Kíli’s neck. He hadn’t drawn blood. Not yet. 

“Killing him won’t change anything,” Thorin argued, “For whatever reason you’re here, killing that boy won’t make your life any better. But if you harm one hair on his head I promise to make it much, much worse.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” the dwarf growled back, looking a rabid animal that had been cornered, “But because of your line my whole family is dead! There is nothing you can do to make it any worse.”

“So you torture an innocent woman?!” Dwalin roared. 

“And enjoyed it,” he breathed. “It’s a shame I didn’t have a chance like that with Dis.” 

Dwalin nearly launched himself right then, and it took Bifur, Bofur, and Nori to hold him back. 

“Did I hit a soft-spot, guardsman? My dearest apologies. And you’re right, Thorin,” he said, “Killing your nephew might not change anything in this world. But I’ll have avenged my brothers, and that is worth much, much more.”

He raised the knife, and was about to—

_BONK!_

Willorn fell to his hands and knees as the cast iron slammed into the back of his skull. Kíli jumped away immediately, running into Thorin’s arms. The dwarves stared, shell-shocked, at the tiny, bloodied hobbit woman standing before them, who clutched a thick and heavy cast iron frying pan like a sword. Enraged and screeching, she beat him again and again. 

“YOU WILL NOT—“

_SLAM!_

“HURT—“

_SNAP!_

“MY—“

_CURUNCH!_

“BOYS!”

_BONK!_

Through all his struggling and writhing on the floor, Bilba struck him like a mother bear drunk on anger long after he stopped moving. Blood splattered against the floor, and the dwarves were sure they heard at least one bone crack, but Bilba continued relentlessly until she could no longer lift the pan. Eventually she sank to her knees, the metal sliding out of her fingers. 

“Get him out of my home,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

“Bilba, I can’t begin to describe how sorry I am that this—“

“S’not your fault,” she murmured. 

They were in her bedroom, Thorin and Bilba alone. The room was dim save for the bed, which was surrounded by candles on the sidetable and windowsill. She was laid back against stacked pillows as Thorin bandaged her. Oin would have been better, but Thorin had been in enough battles to be able to stitch a wound. He had cleaned the obvious wounds and wrapped them, and she had already taken all the painkillers she could. There was just one problem. 

Some of the cuts were in rather...private places. 

Thorin wasn’t sure how to ask, but he gulped and forced himself to anyway. 

“The wounds on your thighs…”

“Just tear the trousers at the cut,” she muttered. Bilba really didn’t care anymore. He nodded and as gently as he could, tore the pant legs off at the highest laceration. He might have blushed at the soft touching of her legs that he was permitted to do, but the sight was stomach-wrenching. Cuts darting across her thigh scaling up and down, too shallow to need stitching but painful to think about. 

“What you did…I can never thank you enough.”

She hummed in acknowledgement weakly, eyes closed and relaxed. When her legs were bandaged his eyes moved to the blood on and below her bosom. She glanced at him, noticing the attention. Bilba sighed grumpily and forced herself to sit up as she pulled off her vest and blouse. 

“Wha—Bilba, wait!” Thorin said. He felt that if she could have, she would have rolled her eyes at him. His face reddened and heated, when had she become so bold?

“You need to wrap it. I’m keeping my underthings on, thank you very much, but I can shift it to get the side,” she said, reaching for a cup of water on the night stand for her parched throat. She continued to unbutton her blouse and Thorin forced himself to only look at the cut. It was one of the deeper ones and had left an enormous stain on her clothes. Not only that, but her stomach was also bruised. They had punched her more than once. 

“Thorin, we’ve got them all tied up. Do you want to—“ Dwalin stuttered to a stop when he barged through the door, Thorin’s hands leaping to hold the blanket up in front of an irritated Bilba. Dwalin’s hands snapped to his eyes, flushing profusely. 

“My apologies!” he stated immediately. He swallowed and spoke again, still hiding his view. “We just have the other two tied up in the back yard. We’re going to take them out to the forest and, well, Dori’s staying here to watch the kids. You want to come?” 

Thorin was about to turn to ask Bilba when he felt a small vice grip on his wrist. His head slowly spun, finding a terrified hobbit woman looking back at him. 

It struck him that this was the first time she had appeared afraid. She had been concerned for the boys, maddened by her attacker, annoyed by his embarrassment for treating her wounds, but never fearful. She shook her head desperately at him, silently begging him. 

“No, I think I’ll stay here. You all can take care of it?” 

“Easily,” Dwalin affirmed, “If you’re sure you don’t want to come, any requests?” 

The dwarf king was glad for his friend’s censorship. Dwalin was known for his brutality in battle, and he could be just as cruel to murderers, but that wasn’t what Bilba needed. She’d have enough blood-spilling for a lifetime. 

“No, just whatever you think is—“

“Slice off his fingers,” Bilba growled, “And his tongue.”

Both dwarves’ eyebrows jumped, but Dwalin simply gave a nod and was gone, shutting the door behind him. 

“That was very…decisive,” Thorin said. Bilba was quiet. He followed suit and began to wrap her midsection. Her bosom was held up and hidden by an undergarment that now had a dark red patch on the right side. Bilba pulled the edges of where it had been sliced apart and Thorin placed the bandages, held to her skin with a light adhesive. He tried to ignore how the soft flesh felt beneath his fingertips. 

“Please don’t go,” she said suddenly after he had pulled away, gazing down at her covers, “I don’t blame you for anything, but please, please don’t go.” A sniffle escaped her as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

Thorin blinked for a moment, but complied readily. His large, muscular arms encircled her, the dark blue fabric of his tunic warm on her bruised skin. Bilba tucked her head into his shoulder as his long, dark hair pooled around hers. Her body felt incredibly hot to him, her skin putting off quite a bit of heat. It wasn’t a fever; he knew her to be a natural furnace, but he just hadn’t thought about it since Fíli and Kíli had tied them up. 

Or when they kissed. 

It had almost shocked him into pulling away, when her warm hand rested against his cheek that night. It had combed through his beard ever so lightly, hesitantly, and it made it all the sweeter. 

Now enveloping her beaten body, he wished he could kiss her again. But no, her lips were busted and swollen, and it likely hurt her to touch them. Bilba clung to him all the same. 

And in his arms, safe and locked away from all the others, the flood gates opened. 

And she cried and wailed and let out all the pain and stress she had withheld, until she was hoarse. She had gone through agony, mind-numbing pain, all for children who were not her own. She loved them so much, and they had brought such light to her life. But this was a darkness that would leave a stain worse than the blood. 

Thorin tried to comfort her, whispering promises of protection and loyalty for as long as she wept. He knew that the only cure was for her to let it out and to make her feel safe, but knowing there was little he could do didn’t help. He wasn’t even getting a chance to torture those who had wronged her! Her! His—his…

What was she to him?

After all she had done, what she had sacrificed, the words she had said…

“I love you, Bilba Baggins.” 

It came out so easily. He had expected to stutter, and yet felt no qualms about it. He loved her. That was a surety. 

For a moment, she was frozen. And then slowly, her head turned up, green pearls gazing at him between purple clouds. The corners of her lips just curled up ever so slightly, and the tears fell silently. 

“I know.” 

Thorin looked at her blankly. 

“You—What?” 

And she giggled. 

It was weak and quiet and maybe a little dry, but she chuckled. 

“I know. And I love you too.”

She snuggled against him a little tighter, and he hoped it wasn’t just the painkillers talking. He prayed it was her saying, meaning, confessing, that she loved him, honest and true. 

A woman loved him. This woman loved him. After all the trouble he had caused and created. 

She loved him. 

“Uncle Thorin?” a tiny voice called from outside the door, “May we come in?” 

“Yes, boys,” Thorin and Bilba said in unison, and grinned at each other. 

The door slowly cracked open, Fíli and Kíli peering in only so far that the adults could see down to their noses. 

“Well, come on in,” Thorin said.

The boys entered hesitantly. The hands were behind their back and they shuffled their feet, not making eye contact. 

“We wanted to thank you for protecting us,” Fíli said. 

“And saving me!” Kíli added. 

“We’re sorry we couldn’t protect you…”

“Are you okay?” 

Bilba watched the silent boys for a moment before smiling warmly. These two. 

She had made the choice to protect them, and she would do it again. 

“No, I’m not. I’m hurt and scared,” she answered, and the boys hung their heads sadly, “But the good news is that I know that and can accept it. And that means I can get help. I do have a big new family of dwarves to protect me.” 

She sounded so strong, so hopeful, but Thorin saw the twinge in her eye. This nightmare would be a stitch in her side for a long time. The crying more than showed that. This was a horror that would last in her mind, longer than the scars on her body. 

But Bilba opened her arms from the bed, and the brothers didn’t hesitate to run up and into them. They hugged her desperately but carefully, sniffling and apologizing. 

“Oh goodness, where is little Ori going to sleep?” she muttered. 

“Dori said she would stay with him,” Fíli supplied. 

“And Bifur is sharing with Mister Dwalin since you’re here,” Kíli said. 

Since he was here? They expected him to spend the night? That took a lot of nerve if they thought their king was about to—

Wait. 

Thorin smiled to himself. It wasn’t an insinuation. It was an order. 

“So Bofur and Nori are sharing?” Bilba asked slyly. Thorin smirked. Clever bastards. 

Fíli and Kíli buried themselves under her covers and readied for bed. She glanced up at Thorin, the man who’d almost murdered another for grabbing her skirt, and gave up torturing a man who had tortured her to stay with her and comfort her. She had known him for no more than two months, had already been welcomed as family, dwarf-friend, court-worthy, and loved. She leaned back into her large pile of pillows, an arm reaching out to welcome him too. She smiled through the bruises and blood, and he sank into the mattress beside her. Fíli and Kíli melded to her left side and Thorin laid on his side to her right, wrapping an arm around her waist. He leaned in and they kissed, just so briefly to escape the brothers’ notice. When they parted, she smiled warmly, remembering the first few say when they had met and he had been so distant. 

“You are safe here,” she said.

And she damn well meant it. 

\-------------------------------------------

“You know people will notice if we don’t come back,” Tomorus growled.

“Oh yes, because nothing bad happens to dwarves in small groups on the road,” Nori said dryly. He was already eyeing his knives, deciding which to use. Dwalin was sharpening his axes, and thought that he might actually give the shovel a spin. It wasn’t a war-hammer, but it wasn’t half bad. Bifur was shining his boar spear, muttering things about bones and organs in Khuzdul. Bofur was drinking from a small flask he had brought, filled with pretty strong stuff. He didn’t care how drunk he got in front of any of them. This wasn’t a night he wanted to remember. 

They had the monsters each tied to a tree, near each other but not touching distance. The clearing was small, and deep enough into the forest no one would hear a thing. 

“You think no one will ever find our bodies?” Willorn snapped. 

“The Brandywine has been flowing strong since we got here,” Bofur said, “And you seem to think your body will be in one piece after this.”

“Who wants to start?” Nori smirked. 

“I’ve got a request from our esteemed Lady,” Dwalin said, rising from his stone seat, “And I think Miss Baggins would appreciate the priority.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for some bad news, but I'm about to leave for a trip so I probably won't be able to update for 2 weeks.  
> Hope this holds you over.


	15. Hearts and Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The healing process is a painful one. 
> 
> I sincerely apologize if I butcher PTSD, but I do not have any personal experience with it or anyone who had suffered from it, so I had to get most of the symptoms online. Again, apologies.

The next morning was slow and bleary. No one had gotten a full-night’s rest. Bilba had been plagued by pain and nightmares, as were the boys, and Thorin stayed up to comfort them. Ori had cried for much of the night and Dori had remained awake to make sure the other dwarves got home safely. 

And they were out for a very, very long time. 

But when the sun rose and bellies began to growl Thorin knew there was work to be done. He demanded Bilba remain in bed, and the boys lingered by her side to make sure she did. If she was at full strength, the two brothers wouldn’t have been much trouble for her to get past, but she could barely walk on her own. 

Thorin wasn’t sure where to begin when he strode into the kitchen, save for cleaning up the blood stain Bilba had left with her frying pan on the floor. But that was already taken care of. In fact, the whole room was sparkling. Thorin guessed it had been Dori, as his desire for neatness grew whenever stressed. 

However, the kitchen was not empty. Nori stood stoically at the stove, frying up something that smelled delicious, while Bofur weakly nursed a hangover with black coffee at the table. Little Ori was next to him, lazily chewing on a pancake. They each acknowledged him with tired nods and went back to their business. Thorin wanted to say something, but there just wasn’t much to say. 

“How are the others?” he asked as he sat down at the table next to Bofur. The miner glanced up at him sleepily, bags beneath his eyes and his usual jovial attitude missing. Even his hat seemed to sag. 

“Doing about as well as you can expect,” he said, “Bifur’s in one of ‘is moods. Probably will be for a while. You know how ‘e lost his wife to an orc raid? I think this is bringing the feelin’ back. And Dwalin wants to kill every unloyal dwarf in Ered Luin, but that’s to be expected, I suppose. Though he’s certainly got a new respect for Miss Baggins. Doubt anything dangerous is going get past him ever again. Him and Bifur are still sleepin’ though. They did have a more exhausting night than we did, having the extra brawn.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Those two guys were bigger than me and Bofur so Dwalin and Bifur were the ones that had to drag them to the river,” Nori filled in, leaving out the bloody parts for the sake of his sister. 

And there had been a very large amount of bloody parts. 

Ori appeared unfazed by the discussion, nibbling absent-mindedly on her pancakes. Thorin wondered about the state of her mind. He knew Fíli and Kíli would be traumatized. No one made it through a torture without a few scars, physical or otherwise. But Ori? Bilba had been her mentor since they arrived. Her closest female friend. And now she was bedridden, tormented and almost beaten to death. What was the girl to think?

“And Dori?” 

“Completely knocked out,” Nori chuckled. “He waited for us all night, and we were up pretty late, or early, as it might have been. He cleaned the whole place though. Y’know he was the one to teach me how to get blood stains out?” Nori spoke as casually as one would about the weather or normal family jokes. It was both unnerving and reassuring. “How was your night?” Bofur and Ori perked up at that. No one but Thorin and his nephews (and Dwalin for all of thirty seconds) had been near Bilba since he had carried her to her room and began treating her wounds. 

“Dark,” he answered. Bilba had woken more than once, crying and terrified. When her first nightmare came she had screamed, and when Thorin tried to comfort her she lashed out. 

Her mind had been somewhere else. 

With someone else. 

Thorin had seen it before in soldiers and orc-raid victims. Bifur still had similar nightmares. Bilba did not suffer any physically permanent damage, but he couldn’t guess when or if the memories would ever stop surfacing. 

Fíli and Kíli were almost worse. Unlike Bilba, they had only crawled closer to him, whimpering and shaking in fear. The boys had not bared witness to her agony, but they had heard it. Whatever their dreams lacked in visual memory, their imaginations had filled in. Thorin wasn’t sure to be grateful or even more concerned. 

“And yours?” he asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from Bilba. He really just wanted to change the subject entirely, but his curiosity as to the fates of her attackers was growing. Nori cocked a brow with a knowing smirk.

“Ori love, would you mind getting Mister Dwalin for me?” Nori called to his sister lightly. She was off with a simple ‘uh-huh’, and Nori smiled darkly at Thorin. 

“You remember that orc raid a few decades back? The large one in the middle of the winter?” Nori asked. Thorin nodded as Bofur grimaced. It was regarded as a terrible attack on a list of terrible attacks. Bifur lost his wife and gained an axe in his skull. Dwalin got the scar above his eye. It had been completely unexpected; while orc raids did usually increase in the cold months the passes around the Blue Mountains had been blocked that year by the snow. Trade and travel was nearly impossible, but the dwarves had hoped that it also meant the orcs would not reach them that year. The early half of winter had been utterly peaceful, pleasant even, but the raid had been one of the worst in Ered Luin’s short history. “You remember what we did to the prisoners?” Nori questioned again. And Thorin did. He had joined in it. Dwarves were not ones to take prisoners often when it came to attacks, but this had been a special case. 

And the punishment the orcs had received was pitiless. 

“Imagine worse,” Nori said, finally answering Thorin’s question. He blinked in response. How could they have done worse than that? But before he got the chance to ask, Dwalin strode into the kitchen, Ori in tow. The warrior looked like death himself. Large bags under his eyes accentuated the glare he wore, his beard and hair unkempt and with more than one lock of blood-matted hair. Dwalin’s muscles were as big as ever and the tattoos that scoured them appeared dark and menacing. The man was most certainly not in a good mood. But without a word, the warrior stepped towards Thorin and held out a closed fist. When his palm opened, Thorin’s eyes widened. 

In Dwalin’s hand were two braids. 

One was a dark grey, Tomorus’s. Thorin recalled seeing it hang from the back of the man’s head. It was a court official’s braid, a sign to show his power. 

The other was Willorn’s blond beard braid. A soldier’s braid. 

Neither dwarf deserved them. 

“We kept them for her,” Dwalin said grimly. The dwarf king nodded. A wronged party was owed a payment. This was the cost. 

Thorin rose from his seat and Dwalin passed him the braids. They felt heavy in his hand. He curled his fingers around the coiled hair with rage building in his heart. They couldn’t take away her scars, but he could hand her the very signs of disgrace the monsters earned. Pride flickered like a small flame in his heart. Erebor might be lost, but her punishments were not. Not to him. Bilba could burn the braids, she could frame them or bury them or do whatever she wished, but Bilba would have her trophy. 

Thorin slid the braids into his pocket and grabbed a small bowl of porridge before he waved for Dwalin to take his place at the table. He needed to talk to Bilba. Walking down the hall slowly, an unknown dread began to fill his stomach. He cautiously approached her door, stepping lightly. The knob squeaked slightly as he turned it, and the door creaked when Thorin pushed it open. He was met with a very dear sight.

Bilba was awake, but relaxed against her small mountain of pillows. On either side of her were the boys, snuggled against her. They each had a tiny hand gently gripping the blankets over her, and she had an arm wrapped around both of the brothers. Fíli and Kíli slept soundly, Thorin could even hear their steady breathing from the doorway. Bilba smiled fondly down at them as she sleepily stroked their hair. It would have been a perfect moment, had her smile not been hindered by bruises. 

The bruises and black-eyes she received had now had a chance to fully develop. The splotches did not seem to have any permanent damage, but for now were still dark and sickly. But somehow she was still smiling, and Thorin thanked the gods for that. 

“Bilba?” he spoke quietly, desperate not to scare her. She looked up at him with a warm smile and gestured him forward. He moved to her bedside, setting the porridge on her nightstand, and kneeled down to get closer to his boys. “How do you feel?”

He thought it was a stupid question, but it did need to be asked. 

“Like I was hit by a horse and cart,” she said lightly, “But also a bit paranoid, if I’m being honest.”

“You can always be honest with me.”

“I know. But not while they’re here,” she said, her eyes flicking to the boys. “They do not need any more weight on their shoulders.” Thorin nodded. She gently ran her fingers through their long hair, the soft fibers unknotting. “They’re just so young…” The dwarf king sighed in solemn agreement. The boys had seen far too much for their age. He wondered what the repercussions would be when they got older. 

“If there is anything I can do…” he started, unsure of where to go. What could he say? 

“This is fine for now,” Bilba said, glancing at the porridge, “And please don’t be so hard on yourself. There was nothing more you could have done.” She reached out her hand shakily and he took it, his thumb drifting up and down the top of her hand. 

“You worry about everyone but yourself,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” she answered with a sad smile, “But I think it helps me get over everything. Maybe it’s a distraction but…well, things could have been worse, right?” 

“How?” Thorin asked in a deadpan voice. 

“I could have gone with you to the bar and left Primula to babysit.”

Thorin blinked. 

Oh dear Mahal. 

If it had been Primula…

Bilba must have noticed the stoic horror on his face. 

“See. Worse. Would it have been my fault for not being here? No. So it’s not your fault either. And make sure you tell the others that. I can’t imagine Dwalin taking this well after what happened to Dis.”

“I’ll let him know.”

She smiled weakly and gazed down at the boys again. 

“Have you ever thought about having children?” she asked suddenly. His head snapped up to hers and he was momentarily stunned. Kids? He swallowed and tried to think. When was the last time he thought about having children?

“I debated parenthood for many years when I was younger,” he declared, “As prince I needed an heir. In Erebor I was young and thought I had all the time in the world to find a bride, so I never looked at women too seriously…and after Erebor fell…” His voice lingered as his eyes darted to a distant place. Life had been so easy before Smaug. He had taken it all for granted and it had been taken from him. “I had been considering courtship some decades ago until Dis married. When Fíli was born I finally had an heir. Most still thought I should find a queen, but the urgency was gone. Since then it has just been an issue of finding the right woman…”

A warm smile graced his lips. Perhaps this wasn’t where she had imagined the conversation to go, perhaps it was. Either way, it was something they needed to discuss, and he felt closer to her by doing it. 

“Have you thought much of it?”

Bilba sighed with slight exasperation, “I suppose it’s a bit of an expectation for hobbit women. You grow up, get married, have a happy few bundles of joy. But I faced a similar problem.”

“You did not find any of the hobbit men suitable?” Thorin asked humorously, with a small hint of pride. 

“More like…the other way around,” Bilba answered sheepishly. Thorin raised a skeptical brow. Bilba relented. “It’s not that they were ever cruel or found me unattractive per say, I simply was…less attractive. A sharp-tongued woman with too many adventure stories. Fun to have around but there were gentler women to spend their days with.”

“Then they had horrible taste,” Thorin said haughtily. Bilba grinned. 

“Certainly. And have you seen their faces? No sign of a beard anywhere. How unsightly.”

That did get a laugh out of Thorin. 

Perhaps things would be alright. 

Perhaps not.

But Thorin remembered the braids in his pocket, and knew he had to say something. 

“While we’re talking of beards, there is something I need to show you.”

He slowly forced his hand to his pocket, pulling out the locks of hair as Bilba watched. Her eyes widened in horror as his fingers opened to reveal the blood-stained braids, and she pushed herself back against the pillows. 

“What…what are those?” she asked shakily, her heart palpitating violently. 

“They are the braids of the dwarves who attacked you. Dwalin cut them off last night. They are yours to do with as you please, and we are happy to assist in any way possible.”

Bilba’s lip quivered as she gulped. She tried to hold back the shivers running up and down her spine as well as the horrific visions swimming in her head. Those braids…she certainly remembered them, all too well. 

“Why?” she asked, voice high and quiet. 

“It is their punishment,” Thorin explained disdainfully, “They are a disgrace to dwarf kind, and must be dealt with as such. Their beards were cut from their faces. They are no longer Khazad. But these are yours now. A reward for your suffering.” 

He lifted his hand closer to her, and Bilba stared at the shorn braids in disgust and terror as she tried desperately to sink into her pillows. 

“Here, take them,” he said as he pushed them nearer. 

“Thorin…Thorin, I don’t…” she whispered fearfully. 

“Bilba, just—“

_SLAP!_

The braids flew out of his hand and skidded across the floor. Thorin jumped back in surprise as his nephews were startled awake. Bilba’s breathing was skittish as she clutched the blankets to herself. 

“Bilba, why did you—“

“Get them out!” she shrieked, shaking her head frantically, “Get those things away from me!” 

Thorin stared at her and then the braids, shocked and slack-jawed. He leaped from the bed and scooped the braids up, fleeing the room. 

What had he done?

\-------------------------------------------------

“Bibba?” Kíli pulled on the fabric of her nightgown gently. “Everyting’s okay. Nutin’s gonna hurt you.”

Bilba peeked from behind her hands. Fíli and Kíli were sitting at her sides, attentive and worried, gazing up at her with gleaming blue and brown irises. Her red eyes and wet cheeks told them what happened, and as she sniffled they snuggled closer. 

“Uncle Thorin didn’t mean to scare you,” Fíli spoke softly. 

“Why would he bring those...things?!” she asked, struggling to keep her voice from rising at the boys. “They were covered in bl-blood. Oh dear Eru, why would they do that?!”

“Cut off their braids?” Kíli asked, his own voice sounding a little frightened, like he knew exactly why. Bilba nodded. 

“Braids are important to dwarves,” Fíli said solemnly, “Like beards. They tell others who we are. Hair is the only thing we’re born with, so it is precious to us. To cut off another’s braid is to…deface them. Like a brand. Only the worst of criminals are sheared, as a warning to other dwarves, in this life or the next.”

“So when they cut the braids off…” Bilba began. 

“It’s a sentence worse than death,” Fíli said quietly, “A sign of their cruelty to show others they cannot be trusted and do not deserve pity.”

Bilba watched the blond with concerned eyes. Maybe this was something all dwarves knew by a certain age. Maybe Fíli was just growing up faster than he should. 

Either way, Bilba still had things to learn about dwarven culture. 

“But if it’s just a braid or a beard, can’t they all be easily cut?” Bilba asked slowly, unsure if she wanted to know the answer, “What if a criminal cut off an innocent’s braid? What would happen then?” 

Fíli pursed his lips and furrowed his brow as he thought hard. Kíli cocked his head to the side, like he too wanted to know. 

“Depends on the braid,” the boy answered, “It could be an insult. Like if the bead on the braid was for bravery, cutting it off would be calling them a coward. Or shearing a marriage bead could mean they don’t deserve their spouse. Whatever it is, losing one’s hair is really embarrassing. It’s supposed to be a thing you protect, you know? Only second to your life or that of another. To lose your hair is a sign of weakness, a sign you couldn’t protect yourself.”

Bilba nodded absent-mindedly to the boy. It was all very interesting, yes, very informative. She would have to write it all down.

After her hands stopped shaking. 

\----------------------------------------------

The dwarves demanded Bilba not leave her bed. She needed time to heal. They brought her everything she might need, and there was always someone by her side. Dori made her teas and they gossiped about different people they knew, telling scandalous stories of romance and betrayal. He made her feel normal, and maybe even a bit feminine, which she hadn’t for a while. Nori described the far off lands he had traveled to, the adventures he had, even a few of the cons. Bilba loved to hear of the different places and peoples and animals. Nori’s words gave her wings when she could not walk. Bofur was happy to volunteer to be at her side, and she was happy to have him. He told jokes and played merry tunes and always had a funny story up his sleeve. The miner took the pain away, even when she laughed so hard it hurt. 

Bifur was different. He was quiet, but spoke occasionally in Khuzdul. While Bilba had previously found it to sound coarse as a language, he made it smooth and gentle. He made toys and carved as she watched, and could empathize in her suffering in ways the others could not. Bilba stopped feeling alone. Dwalin was like a guard dog. He was usually stoic and silent, but somehow companionable. He never brought weapons into her room for fear of scaring her, but she always felt safe with him. 

Despite their desires to stay by her side, each dwarf still had a job to get to, and only one needed to be with her. They took shifts, some working while others tended the home, cooking and caring for her and the children. Thorin never left the smial. He refused. Always within earshot of her room, the dwarf king remained loyal to her, and tried to not let the guilt set in. He never mentioned the braids again and kept them out of sight. Fíli and Kíli never mentioned their conversation with her to him, but he decided to hold off talking about dwarf hair culture until she was better. 

The kids spent all the time they were allowed with her. Fíli and Kíli and Ori brought her treats and read her the stories they could and never let their smiles drop for a second. None of the adults were sure of what they knew or understood, but they didn’t see a problem in it, as long as Bilba got her rest. 

\----------------------------------------

It was the afternoon after the braid debacle when the dwarves were eating a quiet lunch. All were there, save for Ori who was with Bilba, making sure she was able to eat. The men sat around the kitchen table silently, each delving into their own minds to think of recent events, the attack being one, Bilba’s reaction to the braids another. They knew they would have to be careful from now on. None knew just how the hobbit lady might react to what a dwarf would consider normal. And none of them wished to cause any more harm than was already done. 

Bofur and Bifur volunteered to do the dishes, but just before the others left to go about their personal business, Bofur called out. 

“Ay lads, what’s this?” he asked, holding up the small silver sphere he had just found. He gasped suddenly, recognizing the runes just a second before Thorin realized what it was. 

“Is that…” Nori started.

“But why would she…” Dori murmured. 

Thorin stared at the tiny bead in Bofur’s hand and felt his heart drop. 

“Because she no longer considers dwarves as friends,” Dwalin said, “And I don’t blame her.”

\----------------------------------------

He knew it was rude to ask. Why she had decided to take the dwarf-friend bead out was her decision. Her choice. After what the monsters had done to her, she had every right to not want to associate with his race at all. 

But Thorin needed to know. 

If any of them had a right to ask, it was him. He was king, he was the first one to meet her, and he made her that very bead with his own two hands! Surely that counted for something. 

So that evening after dinner, he grabbed the bead from where the others had left it, and went to visit Bilba. He found Bifur sitting with her who left with a small bow, and Thorin took his place. 

“How do you feel?” he asked again, tentatively. She gave him a tiny grin that didn’t reach her eyes, but answered. 

“Bored. I hate not moving.”

“I can empathize.” 

They sat for a moment in a companionable silence. It was calm in her room, not silently tense like outside with the others, but simply serene. It did Bilba good, even if she wished for more activity. But soon enough, Thorin knew he had to say something. 

“Bilba, there’s something I need to ask you,” he said, and his eyes drifted to her ears, where her hair had grown longer in the past weeks, now covering most of her ears. No wonder he hadn’t noticed. She gazed back at him, face open and waiting. He pulled the bead out of his pocket and lifted it for her to see. Her mouth opened slightly at the sight, but she said nothing. “I know you would have plenty of reasons for taking it out,” he said remorsefully, “But I just need to hear them. To know if there’s anything I can do to convince you otherwise.” 

She didn’t meet his eyes. Wringing her wrists, Bilba gulped and melted against her pillows. 

“Please don’t be mad,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“I’m not mad, not angry at all, Bilba. I just want to know why you took it out.”

Her lip quivered and Thorin could see her shaking. He didn’t want her to suffer like this, but he really, really wanted to know. 

“I didn’t.” 

Her voice was pained and scared, like it hurt for her to speak the words. A small, delicate hand rose slowly towards her face, and brushed her hair behind her ear. 

And behind her curls was a tiny braid, one that was now unraveling, due to the fact its end had been sliced off.

Thorin’s blood ran cold. 

“He said I didn’t deserve it,” Bilba said brokenly, “So he cut it off.” 

Thorin gaped. 

He should have gone with Dwalin. 

He should have gone and beaten those monsters until they begged for death. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked hoarsely, barely able to find words, much less speak. 

“Fíli and Kíli told me how important braids are to dwarves,” Bilba said, “I didn’t want you to get any more upset or angry or…ashamed.” 

She looked up at him, her green eyes swirling with fear. Not of physical pain, but of abandonment. Thorin remembered her words from the night before. 

_“Please don’t go.”_

_“I don’t want to be alone.”_

Like she had been looking for a friend. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Bilba,” he said confidently. And though he was internally raging inside, he refused to let her see. She didn’t need or want to see him angry, but oh, he was going to have a very rough sparring match with Dwalin later. “Please, allow me to braid it again.”

And she did. 

\----------------------------------------

Her nightmares had returned with new ammunition. 

The next night, while the boys returned to their room, Thorin stayed with Bilba. Dori had scowled when he had told the dwarves, but no one said a word when he mentioned how Bilba asked him too. She had asked him to stay through the night, and he was happy to oblige. He slept on the floor by her bedside, always within arms’ reach, and was willing to fetch whatever she needed. 

But when she awoke in tears, he wasn’t sure what could be done. She suddenly started crying in her bed and Thorin moved to her side. 

“Bilba?” he said quietly. Still she wailed. He gently placed a warm hand on her shoulder and her face snapped to his. 

But she did not see him. 

Her eyes were distant and frightened, and she jumped away like his touch burned. 

“No! No, get away! I won’t let you hurt them!” she shrieked.

“Bilba, it’s me!” he pleaded, leaning towards her. She lashed out at him, her nails raking his neck. This time he reared back. “Bilba, I’m not going to hurt you!” She stared at him with fury and fear and continued to sob. “Bilba,” he begged, “You are safe here.” Her wet eyes blinked at him in confusion, and then they slowly widened, her shaking form beginning to calm. 

“Th-Thorin?” she whimpered, voice still wet, “Oh, oh dear Eru, what did I do?” She stared at the claw mark on his neck, and her hands shook guiltily. The small woman curled into herself, pulling her knees up in front of her. “Thorin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s not your fault, Bilba,” he said, cautiously sitting on the bed to get closer, “You were only defending yourself.”

That didn’t seem to comfort her though, as she immediately began to cry again. His shoulders slumped as he felt like a failure, but he pulled himself into her bed and pulled her to him. His thick arms wrapped around her as she lay in bed, and her breathing slowly began to steady and dry. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked when she had calmed down enough for the tears to stop. Bilba was silent for a long moment. Thorin felt tense, like he had crossed a line, but she had not scolded him. 

“I felt helpless,” she confessed quietly. “I had no power to fight them and they knew it. I was a damsel in distress and my prince wasn’t there to save me.” A pang of guilt stabbed his stomach and he felt even worse. How could he have let this happen? How could he leave Bilba alone against his enemies? “But I didn’t mind.”

Wait. 

What?!

“I mean, I’m a hobbit. We’re the tiniest, weakest race in Middle Earth. We’re used to feeling helpless against Big People.” And Thorin suddenly felt a lot less guilty for beating that Man in the Prancing Pony. “I don’t mind feeling helpless, as long as I’m not hopeless.” 

Those sparkling green eyes gazed into his cerulean ones, and he held her closer. She didn’t mind. 

“But sometime during all that, I began to lose hope. I wondered if Fíli and Kíli would ever be able to heal their emotional scars, if I would make it out alive, if I would actually be happy I did…”

Her eyes drifted away, distant and solemn. Thorin held his breath, praying for her to come back to him. He couldn’t bear losing her, not after all they had gone through. 

“And then I wondered if it would even matter if I lived or not.”

Bilba’s gaze settled on him again and she looked as fragile as a sheet of glass. The dwarves had not broken her, but they had left a large number of cracks. Now Thorin had to try and keep her from falling to pieces. 

“I was like a chew toy to them,” she whispered, “I refused and kept quiet and snapped back but by the end they weren’t even doing it for answers any more. He was doing it just for _fun._ I had done nothing to them, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t care if I was hurt or if I died. _I_ didn’t matter. I was not even worthy of their attention, merely their humor.” She blinked up at Thorin, and he saw the pain, the frustration, the agony and suffering and rage built up inside her. “I could not fight them and they knew it. I am no dwarf, Thorin, not a hero, or a warrior, or even a burglar. And until then I did not mind it. But it is true. I could not keep those boys away from harm.” Her lip quivered as she stared him in the eye, sadness bubbling up and pouring once more down her cheeks. “I have no place amongst you.”

His eyes widened and he stared at her, like he could not comprehend her words. 

“Bilba Baggins, you have never been so wrong in all your life,” he said hoarsely, and he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her close, holding tightly as she cried into his shoulder.


	16. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba gets better!  
> Bilba and Ori have a serious chat about beauty. For srs.  
> Bofur and Bilba bond. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait, but this chapter was longer than usual. 
> 
> And I would really like to thank everyone for the comments and kudos. You guys are really kind and encouraging and motivate me to write a lot faster than I usually would.

Bilba healed slowly but the dwarves remained steadfast by her side. The men kept her confined to her bed as much as possible, but she was soon well enough to walk on her own and take care of her basic needs. The dwarves still did all the cooking and cleaning, but Bilba was finally able to rest by the fire again. The dwarves also did what they could to show her how important she was to them, and the hobbit’s smile gradually grew brighter. 

But the fall harvest time was drawing to a close. Winter was arriving, and Bilba was checking and rechecking all of her stores to make sure they would be alright. The men tried to reassure her that they would be fine; they had faced the harsh mountain winters without much of the comfort Bilba had. They could hunt in the snow and even make it into town if need be. 

But there was good news. 

Durin’s Day was coming. 

Bilba had no idea why the dwarves’ moods seemed to pick up as the air turned cold, so one day as she was knitting in bed she asked Bofur, the merriest of the bunch. 

“It’s the start of the dwarvish new year,” he explained, “Big celebration, ‘specially for the Longbeards, his descendents y’know. Tomorrow is their big day. Us Broadbeams don’t have much like it, but we’re the best at parties.”

“It’s a holiday?” she exclaimed and began to rise from the bed, “Oh goodness, that leaves so much to do. I need to—“

“You need to do nothing, Ms. Baggins,” the miner declared and pushed her back into bed, “Except heal o’course. And Thorin would have my head if I let you exert yourself.” 

“And I will die of boredom if I don’t,” she retorted. But she sighed and leaned back into her pillows. This was what she hated about being hurt: the inability to do anything. She was restless. “Fine. I’ll wait for Dwalin to come,” Bilba said, “and ask him. He did say my cookies were to die for.” 

“Aye. Though I much prefer your apple fritters.”

“Well I did win a BAFTA.” At Bofur’s quizzical look, she smirked. “Best Apple Fritters This Age. Beat out my own grandmother’s for it. They were deeply offended. Nearly disowned me,” she chuckled. Bofur laughed too and they shared a cheery afternoon. 

\-------------------------------------------

That night Bilba asked Thorin to sleep in his own room again, saying she wanted to see if she could make it on her own. He was reluctant to leave her by herself, and both Bofur and Nori voiced their disdain for the idea, claiming that she was still far too fragile to be alone at night, despite the two weeks it had been since the attack (though the others knew the miner and thief were probably more upset that they wouldn’t be sharing a room anymore). But Dwalin was on Bilba’s side, agreeing that the only way she’d regain her independence was if they let her act so. Thorin gave in, and Bilba grinned inwardly, for she had no intention of sleeping that night.

She waited to go to bed until most of the dwarves had already retired, and gave it a good hour for the dwarves after her to fall asleep. Bilba crept out of her room silently, her innate hobbit talents unhindered by her now nearly-healed cuts. Through the hall and past the sitting rooms, the kitchen was dark and calm, and almost exactly how she remembered. The dwarves, however raucous and loud, were immaculate cleaners. And they had left the pantry as well-stocked as ever. 

Her smile was lit only by the small candle she had brought, but alongside the moonlight peering in from the window and Bilba’s keen eyes, there was little hidden from her. And that meant one thing. 

It was time to cook. 

Oh how she had missed it!

She whipped through her recipes like a speed demon. With silence and skill she worked her magic, decades of practice showing in her results. This was her talent, her forte, her home. Here, she was a woman with a purpose. Bilba made cobblers and pies and soufflés all night long, the ample rest she had gotten now fueling her. Breads and muffins and rolls flew out of her oven like clockwork. Cakes and éclairs and casseroles covered her table. Quiches and mouse and pudding filled her bowls. She nearly drooled as she worked, over her cookies and tarts and scones. Hours she spent, cooking in the night, a smile that could light up a kingdom painted across her face. 

For the first time in weeks, Bilba was in control. 

She had the power and the skill and the strength. And when she went to bed that morning, just before dawn and the wake of the dwarves, she did so with a happy heart. 

When the dwarves rose from their beds and stumbled into the kitchen ready to make a large breakfast in the Durin’s Day fashion, they gasped. The men glanced wide-eyed at each other, too shocked to speak. The children dove straight in. But all agreed to not disturb Bilba. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Winter arrived shortly and the hobbits’ usual jovial attitudes seemed to quiet slightly. Unlike the dwarves, they had no holidays this time of year, not anymore. The cold was something feared, the dark was a threat, and everyday Thorin worried what it meant for Bilba’s heart. 

The children thought it was wonderful. When the first light snow came the three dwarflings threw on their coats and scarves and went bounding into the cold to play with the braver hobbit children. Despite the Fell Winter leaving a dark history, the hobbits did try to make the freezing temperatures seem pleasant. The Shirefolk brought out their seasonal foods, the children made snow sculptures, and everyone tried to hold on to the joys they could, just in case they would lose them in the coming months. 

Bilba remained calm, knowing there had not been any season as bad as the Fell Winter before or since. She liked knowing she was prepared, but she wasn’t very worried. Her bruises had faded and her cuts had closed. Her nightmares were still terrifying when they came, but she was learning how to keep away from triggering topics. Fíli and Kíli also appeared to heal well, and whenever they looked like they might get upset, Ori was there to distract them with a game or story. 

Bilba and the children had much less time for hidden lessons in Sindarin, as the dwarves insisted on taking over her teaching while she continued to recuperate, but she and Ori still always found time to study different ways to fight. It became their best kept secret, and both wanted to keep it that way. 

It was a calm day in Bag End that found all of the company in one place. Bilba was teaching Ori to knit and most of the dwarves were relaxing. The snow had piled high enough to keep most hobbits indoors, so there was little point in Bofur and Bifur going out to sell toys, and Thorin and Dwalin had finished all of their orders. Nori hated the cold, for it made fingers numb and clumsy, and Dori was quite content to stay in and drink his tea. The other men preferred to sample the hobbits’ wondrous pipe-weed (they would definitely be taking some of that home), but it seemed like a good day to spend time as a family. Fíli and Kíli were overjoyed to have all their playmates at once, and Dwalin found himself with two dwarflings perpetually attached to his legs. It was quiet, peaceful, and very, very hobbit-y. And Bilba didn’t like it. 

Bad things happened when things were calm. People always came knocking at her door; meddlesome wizards, angry dwarves, and more than one annoying relative. Or perhaps someone would say something that offended another and there would be a clash and a painful fallout. Maybe some new monster was invading the Shire, or what if—oh now this would be hilarious—elves came knocking! Bilba smiled in spite of herself. That would actually be quite funny. But there was certainly a danger opening your door to the world. Never know what you might find. 

So she sighed in resignation when there was, once again, a knock at the door. 

“I’ll get it,” Dwalin said seriously. The other dwarves also tensed. Bilba’s fear was not an isolated thing. He rose from the couch, his knuckle-dusters hanging from his belt and clinking as he walked. More than one dwarf tilted their heads towards the door way to catch a glimpse of whoever was knocking, and Nori’s fingers seemed to be itching up a storm, if their twitching was anything to go by. All the occupants of Bag End strained their ears to listen. Dwalin’s thundering stomps came to a stop, followed by a quiet squawk of the door opening. And then, silence. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” they heard Dwalin say, not angrily but almost…annoyed? 

“Is Bilba here?” a feminine voice asked from the unseen doorway. The dwarves glanced at each other. Who was this lass? 

“Primula!” Fíli and Kíli shouted and jumped. They dashed out of the room with Bilba chuckling lightly as she walked behind them. She entered the foyer unsure of what to expect, but found Dwalin rolling his eyes as the boys jumped up and down at the young hobbit’s feet. 

And Primula wasn’t the only one at the door. Drogo was just behind her, looking a little sheepish in the warrior’s wake. The snow was half-way up their shins and still falling. The cold air seeped into the smial and Bilba shivered. 

“Fíli! Kíli! How have you boys been?” Primula asked delightedly. 

“Great!” they answered in unison. 

“Primula, Drogo, it’s wonderful to see you. But what are you doing here at this time of night? And in the snow! Come in, come in,” Bilba said, waving the hobbits into her foyer. Dwalin stared at them oddly as he shut the door. Hobbits were still weird to him. He had been avoiding conversation with them since they had arrived. At the forge, Thorin had done all the talking. 

“Mr. Bofur!” Primula exclaimed when she noticed the dwarf who had wandered into the hall. “How are you?” 

“Fine, lass,” the miner greeted with a cheery smile as Bilba watched in confusion. “And you? Oh, how are the young’uns?” 

“Well I’m a bit chilled right now, but my little brother is still in love with that dragon you made him!” 

“Um, Primula?” Drogo cut in, “How do you know this dwarf?” His tone wasn’t exactly suspicious, but sounded as befuddled as Bilba felt. 

“I could ask the same thing,” Nori said, having silently snuck up behind the miner. Bofur rolled his eyes. 

“Her little siblings bought some of my toys, Nori. Primula here was kind enough to give me a few tips on what toys hobbit children like from her experience as a baby-sitter. And thanks again for that, lass,” he said with a charming wink. Primula smiled with a blush. Nori snorted. Drogo seemed to be reddening as well, though much more likely in anger than whatever Primula was feeling. 

“Mr. Bofur,” he said, quite flustered, “If you would be so kind as to not flirt with my girlfriend then I—“

“Relax, boy. You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Nori quipped as he slid his arm around Bofur’s waist. It only served to make Drogo more flustered and Primula guffaw. 

“Excuse me,” Bilba intervened flatly. “But what are you doing here? It’s after dark and freezing outside!” 

“Heh, about that…” Primula bit her lip sheepishly, “Would it be at all possible for us to spend the night here?” 

“Spend the night?” Bilba gasped. She blinked at the young lass. Some of the other dwarves began to enter the foyer to see what was going on and discovered Bilba gazing at the new guests, completely flabbergasted. “Why?” 

“We told Gorbadoc,” Drogo said dryly. 

“I imagine he took it well,” Bilba answered sarcastically. 

“He’s out for blood,” Drogo said, worry seeping into his voice. One of the dwarves snorted behind Bilba. Hobbits? Out for blood? Please. 

“I just can’t believe him!” Primula stomped her foot, “I didn’t even give him a name and he was reaching for his pitchfork! And Rorimac, Saradas, Dodinas, and Dinodas were right behind him, those traitors!” Dwalin cocked an eyebrow at the long list of names. The idea that hobbits had such large families was still odd to the new dwarves. 

“Did you give them his name?” Bilba asked. 

“Yes, and now I’m a dead hobbit,” Drogo said ruefully, putting his face in his hands. 

“Why don’t you both just go home?” Dwalin questioned, bored with these hobbit antics.

“Because my father would lock me in my room and not let me leave without an escort,” Primula answered angrily. 

“And my home is the first place Gorbadoc went hunting,” Drogo added, “Dora and Dudo will hopefully stall, but we need somewhere to hide.”

“Are hobbits really so violent?” Bofur asked, his eyebrows knit in genuine concern. 

“Women might be more common in the Shire than Ered Luin, but that doesn’t mean fathers are any less protective,” Bilba bemoaned. “Especially in the big families.”

“It doesn’t help that I’m the youngest girl,” Primula said. “Amaranth and Asphodel are both already married so apparently I’m his last hope.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean for pities’ sake it’s not like I’m running off with him! I just told my father we were going to start courting and he treats it like I’ve been kidnapped.” Primula glared at the ground in front of her in an ire that impressed the dwarves. Drogo, to his credit, appeared to be calming down, but just looked very, very tired. 

“Fine, you can stay the night,” Bilba relented, “Primula, you’ll sleep in my room with me and Ori. Drogo, you’ll have to take the couch. But just for tonight, understand? Tomorrow, you’ll both go to Gorbadoc once he’s cooled off and talk about this like adults. And my name will not be mentioned.” 

“Agreed!” Primula jumped for joy. “Hate for you to get arrested for aiding and abetting.” 

“But will their parents not worry?” Dori cut in, “On a night like this? Two teens about, alone in the snow? Their parents won’t know if they’ve been taken in or are freezing!” 

“Actually it’s the snow that will comfort them,” Bilba inserted. “A cold night like this? Any hobbit would take them in, family or not. Gorbadoc and Fosco are probably more worried about a feud breaking out than their children wandering in the night.” Bilba sighed. Perhaps there was a downside to child-rearing if it turned you into an overprotective idiot. “Okay, well, Primula, Drogo, allow me to introduce you to Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Dori, Nori, Ori, and of course, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“WHEN DID YOU TWO START COURTING?! BILBA, YOU MUST TELL ME EVERYTHING,” Primula shouted and all of the dwarves jumped back, wide eyed. The girl was excitable, and hey, if a dwarf and a hobbit could court, maybe she and Drogo had a chance. 

“Later, darling, later,” Bilba answered as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why don’t you two grab a snack from the pantry while I get the couch ready.” 

“Already on it,” Bofur called as he dashed to the sitting room. 

“And I’ll put some extra blankets in your room for the lass,” Dori agreed, walking back to the hall. She smiled gratefully at the dwarves. A little help was always useful. Thorin gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Is this common among hobbits? The hunt of a suitor?” he asked with a hint of humor. Fíli and Kíli gasped. 

“Is someone gonna come after Uncle?” Kíli asked worriedly as he tugged at Bilba’s skirt. Dwalin immediately scowled and reached for his knuckle-dusters. 

“No, loves. No one is going to come after Thorin. Why don’t you two go introduce Ori to Primula? I’m sure they’ll get along great.” The boys nodded vigorously and nearly dragged their sitter from the room by her elbow. The rest of the dwarves, save Dwalin and Thorin, saw the commotion beginning to end and went back to the sitting room. 

“If I may ask,” Drogo began, “Where are the others?” 

“Others?” Bilba questioned. 

“Other dwarves,” Drogo supplied. “Three came by our door a few weeks ago asking for Thorin. We told them they could find him here. Did they go back home already?” 

Bilba, Thorin, and Dwalin stared at the boy with wide-eyes and opened mouths. 

“You…you did what?” Bilba gasped as the dwarves remained frozen. 

“I told them he was at Bag End. We thought they were with your group,” he answered, looking at Dwalin. Drogo blinked for a moment before his brow furrowed in confusion. “Did they not come? Were they not with you?” 

And for a few seconds, the foyer was silent. And then—

“YOU UNDERSIZED, TRAITOROUS, _PIECE OF—“_

“DWALIN, NO!” 

Bilba shrieked as Dwalin grabbed Drogo by the neck and shoved him against the door. 

“Do you have any idea what you caused?” he roared at the hobbit boy. “I should snap your neck!”

“Dwalin! Let him go!” Thorin commanded and grabbed Dwalin, pulling him back. Bilba pushed herself between the warriors and the lad, panting in shock. Dwalin was raging, struggling to get out of Thorin’s arms as the other dwarves came running to the sounds of violence. 

“It’s not his fault!” Bilba yelled. Dwalin’s head snapped to her and his body stilled. 

“You have got to be joking! He nearly got you killed!” 

“He didn’t know,” Thorin said sternly. 

Drogo watched in panting fear as the warrior was released. Dwalin stalked towards him, only stopping when Bilba stepped between them. 

“I swear I didn’t!” Drogo shouted, “What ever happened?! I don’t what you’re talking about!” 

“Best you never do,” Bilba whispered. She glanced back at Drogo. “Look, why don’t you go get yourself a snack. I’ll handle this.” The boy gulped and nodded, skirting around her to give the dwarves a wide berth. Bilba sighed. 

“You can’t blame Drogo,” she said, “He didn’t know.” Dwalin snorted angrily. “And to answer your question, Thorin, it matters on the family. Gorbadoc is rather protective of his daughters, so this is pretty normal for him. I doubt you’ll face any pitchforks, but you will have to talk with both my grandmothers about our courtship at some point.”

“If any hobbits want him they will have to go through me,” Dwalin growled seriously. Bilba rolled her eyes and smirked. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir Dwalin,” Bilba said with a sly smile as she walked back to join the others, giving Thorin a playful slap on his bottom that made both dwarves choke on air. 

Males were smart creatures, they were intelligent and strong and needed for any race to continue. 

But sometimes, oh sometimes Bilba wondered how women hadn’t taken the over the world yet. 

\-------------------------------------------

“Why don’t we have a girly night, Bilba? Can’t imagine you’ve had much time for it lately,” Primula asked from her makeshift bed on the floor as Ori sat in Bilba’s lap, reading a book on easy ways to disarm someone from behind. 

“I think I’d rather just sleep, but…Ori? Would you like to?” The little dwarfling blinked as she looked up.

“Like to what?” 

“Have a girly night, you know, a fun time for just us girls to get away from our man troubles,” Primula answered with a grin. 

“Man troubles?” Ori repeatedly awkwardly and Bilba put her own face in her palm. “What’s a girly night?” 

“Have you ever been to a slumber party before?” Primula asked. Ori shook her head. 

“She only has two older brothers,” Bilba filled in, “I don’t think she’s had much of a chance.” 

“You mean you’ve never painted your nails? Or had a makeover? Ori, dear, you haven’t been living!” Ori pursed her lips and her face scrunched up. 

“I don’t like that stuff. It hurts and smells weird.” 

“Well, I know getting your eyebrows plucked isn’t the most fun thing in the world but…Bilba, help me out here?” 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Ori,” Bilba said calmly.

“Back in your home, when you played with other dwarf girls, didn’t you ever dress up or do stuff to feel pretty?” Primula asked. Ori’s eyes dipped slowly and she seemed to retract into herself. 

“I never played with the other girls,” Ori said quietly, “They didn’t like me. They said I’d never be pretty.” 

The women sat silently for a moment and glanced at each other. Primula gnawed on her lip guiltily and Bilba pulled Ori closer. 

“Well those girls were very mean, Ori. And very wrong.” She heard Ori sniffle lightly before the girl looked up at her. 

“You think I could be pretty one day?” Bilba blinked at the girl with pained eyes and a clenched heart. She sighed thickly and picked Ori up, spinning the girl so she was facing the eldest hobbit. She gently held the dwarfling’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes. 

“Okay. Ori, there are things you need to know. Very important things. And you need to listen closely, okay?” The girl nodded. Bilba gulped as her mind flashed back to the night Belladonna had given her this very talk. “There are two answers to that question. They sound similar but are very different, and it takes a smart woman to understand the difference, but I think you will.” Ori stared up to the hobbitess earnestly, and Primula shared the gaze. Her mother had never told her any of this. “When it comes to being beautiful, you can look at it two ways. One way is to say that all things are beautiful. Tall, short, skinny, round, dark, light, all of it. That you, your mind and your heart and your body are beautiful and pretty and perfect in every way, because they are you, no matter what anyone says. Do you understand?” 

Ori nodded quickly. Dori had said such things often. Of course, many regarded him as being very beautiful and he had more than one suitor come knocking. But she was still seen as a misfit. 

“The other way to look at it is that beauty,” Bilba said, “Does. Not. Matter. It is not your job to be pretty or nice-looking or pleasing to the eye. Look at the races in this world, Men, elves, dwarves, hobbits. Each are built differently and have different views of what beauty is, so it is a foolish thought to try and please everyone. People may say things but only those who do not judge at first sight and take the time to know your character are ones worth knowing. You should focus on your studies, on being a good person, and if you like, of course you can put on makeup and dress up nice and keep a healthy figure. Cleanliness is hygienic and being very large is not very healthy, but looking ‘pretty’ for others should not be your focus in life. It is not worth the stress or pain, be it emotional or physical. Ori, you of all people need to understand that you should not judge a book by its cover, but spend your time looking for the meaning in its pages.” 

The little dwarf girl looked up at her, with twinkling auburn eyes and a smile that could light up the stars. Bilba released a breath and smiled down at the girl. So this was motherhood. 

Ori leaped into her arms, bursting with laughter and joy. Primula chuckled loudly and the males in the sitting room wondered what was going on. 

“Now, whether you think all people are naturally pretty or looks aren’t important, it can still be fun to get pampered once in awhile. It’s healthy to be in touch with one’s feminine side,” Bilba clarified. “And there is nothing wrong with taking care of one’s appearance. Many consider it quite fun and enjoyable. Just don’t let it consume you.”

“Bilba?” Ori asked, the girl pausing for a moment with critical eyes, a look only seen when she was reading a particularly difficult book. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s a feminiminy side?” 

And there was much more laughter to come that night.

\----------------------------------------

In the sitting room, the men were having a very serious discussion.

“Bet I can drink more tankards than you without falling over.” 

“Oh really? Let’s see then.” 

Thorin, Dwalin, Drogo, Fíli and Kíli watched from the doorway as Nori foolishly attempted to beat Bofur in a drinking contest. Unless Nori had slipped something into the miner’s mug (which come to think of it was a complete possibility), the thief was in for a world of disappointment, and a terrible hangover. Bifur said something rough in Khuzdul that made Dwalin bend over in laughter and even had Thorin chuckling. Drogo watched in confusion. Kíli tugged on Dwalin’s pants. 

“Mister Dwalin? What did Mister Bifur mean about Mister Nori’s legs?” 

Bofur and Nori spit out their ale in a great cloud and Thorin and Dwalin went red. Bifur’s mind seemed to have already moved somewhere else, and Drogo was more confused than ever. 

“I thought you said they were still learning, Dori!” Dwalin shouted towards the kitchen where Dori was quietly drinking his tea away from the ruckus. 

“They are!” he called back, “I taught them body-parts last week!” 

Thorin put a hand over his eyes as Dwalin moaned. Fíli and Kíli were still looking up expectantly. 

“Well?” Fíli near demanded. 

“It’s nothing, Fíli. Just a thing men do. I’ll explain when you’re older,” he moaned. So this was fatherhood. 

“Uncle Thorin?” Fíli asked quietly, “What’s it mean to be a man?” 

All the dwarves (but not Drogo, who by this time felt very awkward and decided to step out to get ready for bed while they were distracted) turned to stare at the blond. 

“What?” Thorin stuttered, a rare thing. 

“What’s it mean to be a man? Or is it to be a dwarf?” Kíli added thoughtfully. 

The dwarves glanced around at each other. This certainly wasn’t expected. 

“Well, traditionally, being manly means being strong, both physically and mentally,” Thorin began awkwardly, “One should be competent and decisive, independent and masculine. And in this day and age men are expected to be able to defend themselves and their own. Why do you ask?” 

Fíli and Kíli glanced at each other sadly. 

“How are we supposed to be all that?” Fíli whispered. 

“We couldn’t pwotect Bibba,” Kíli whimpered, “We’ll never be like you.” 

The dwarves’ eyebrows jumped. Bofur and Nori set down their drinks and Dwalin shuffled his feet. Thorin’s heart ached. 

_“You don’t have to be,_ ” Bifur cut the silence with rocky Khuzdul. _“There is no shame in not being ‘manly’. It is a choice.”_

“Aye, we’re not all valiant warriors,” Bofur added. “Don’t have to be a tough guy to be respected.” 

“Or emotionally constipated to be considered strong,” Dori said as he entered and stood next to Thorin, giving both of the large warriors next to him a sidelong look. 

“And it isn’t all about drink and women and money,” Nori smirked. 

“It’s a man’s actions that decide his character,” Dwalin said firmly, “Not what others think of him.”

“They are all right,” Thorin said as he kneeled down to face his nephews, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. “No Man, dwarf, elf, or hobbit will ever be perfect or respected by all. You two should not grow up thinking you need to be incredible warriors that can take on any danger. Those who think themselves undefeatable are arrogant and foolish. A good man is kind, loyal and honorable. I have no doubt you two will grow to be fine warriors and great men in your day, but worrying yourselves over a thing like manliness is irrational. You two are the descendants of kings, princes of Erebor. More importantly, you are my nephews. I can help your bodies grow strong and your minds wise, but it’s your hearts that I’d rather you think of.” 

Fíli and Kíli’s smiles returned, the edges of their lips squirming upwards before they tackled their uncle in a burst of laughter. The other dwarves chuckled at the sight as Thorin wrestled with the lads. 

_“Boys.”_ Dwalin’s tone was scolding and the princes paused atop their uncle with fearful looks. “As we said,” Dwalin began sternly, “Violence is not some necessary proof of masculinity.” (The boys still didn’t know what masculinity was but they weren’t about to ask) “However,” Dwalin said and his scowl quirked up into a grin, “It is something we tend to find ourselves in.” 

And he jumped into the tussle. 

“Ten on Dwalin!” Nori shouted and turned to Bofur. “You want in?”

“Like I’d bet against you ever again,” Bofur rolled his eyes. 

_“Ten on Bilba when she finds out they wrestled on her floors,”_ Bifur said. Dori shook his head. 

“Barbarians,” he muttered and went back to his tea. 

Suddenly there was a large boom of girlish laughter from down the hall, and the men froze. 

“What do you think they’re doing?” Nori asked quietly. 

“Oh probably painting their nails, plotting our deaths. You know, girly things,” Bofur replied. 

“WHAT?!” Fíli and Kíli gasped. 

“Ori wouldn’t do that…would she?” Fíli asked worriedly. 

“Bibba loves us!” Kíli nearly shouted. 

“Perhaps someone should go check on them,” Dwalin elbowed Thorin with a smirk. 

“I would prefer to stay alive,” Thorin replied. 

\----------------------------------------------

It was a cold day in Hobbiton a week later, after Gorbadoc had agreed to not murder or viciously main Drogo on the agreement the boy would never be alone with his daughter, when the winter chill began to seep into the hearts of the hobbits. Clouds covered the skies and the people who flourished in the sunlight soon became disheartened. They moved slower, smiled less, even the children did not grin on days deemed safe to play in the snow. The dwarves watched as Bilba’s cheeriness started to fade and her stubborn joy weakened. Even her honey-colored curls appeared to dim into a plain shade of brown. 

When any of the dwarves mentioned it, she shrugged it off, claiming it happened every year, which only horrified the men all the more. 

“What can we do?” Thorin asked over second breakfast. The entire company was eating at the dining table, and all heads turned to listen to the hobbit. Bilba sighed and smiled lightly. 

“Have patience,” she said, “Winter will pass and we’ll all be back to normal in the spring. We just aren’t built for the cold. But all the hobbits have emergency stores and we take care of each other. Don’t worry yourselves.” 

The dwarves shared doubtful glances, but nothing more was said on the subject. They began to think it was possible that Bilba was right. The halflings’ weariness was, while not good, normal and natural. They simply had to wait it out. 

But if Bilba was being honest with herself, she knew she was not being honest with the dwarves. This was not a normal winter. It wasn’t the Fell Winter, no, not nearly as bad as that. But certainly not average. The air was thick and the days were dark. The ice and snow were choking the hobbits. Something was coming. 

And then, that evening, they heard a howl. 

Bilba’s head jerked up from her crochet and the dwarves jumped to their feet. 

“Was that a wolf?” she whispered in horror. 

“Wolves? No, that is not a wolf,” Bofur said as he stared out the window in direction of the howl. 

“Wargs,” Thorin growled. 

“Oh dear Yavanna,” Bilba breathed. “The hobbits won’t stand a chance!” 

“But we will,” Nori said, twirling a knife as his eyes met with Thorin’s. 

“Aye, we will push them back to the forest,” Thorin argreed. “Dwalin, Nori, Bifur, get your weapons and come with me. Bofur, Dori, stay here and keep them safe.” The dwarves nodded to their king and the warriors went to grab their weapons. Dori scooped up Ori and Fíli as Bofur picked up Kíli. 

“Ms. Baggins, can your cellar door hold against one of those beasts?” Dori asked. Bilba nodded blankly. They were going out? Just like that? 

“Wait! Wait, Thorin!” Bilba scrambled past Dori to the foyer where the others were about to leave. She put her arms out to grab him but he caught her wrists in a gentle grip. 

“Bilba, we have to do this,” he said solemnly as he looked into her fearful eyes. “The hobbits have been kind to us. We must defend them.” 

“But Thorin, you don’t know how many are out there! They could rip you apart!” she shrieked. The horrors of the Fell Winter had not drifted from her memory in all the years since. Bilba remembered the bodies torn to shreds, from small children to the elderly to strong and fit hobbits, none had been spared. 

“We have fought these beasts before,” Dwalin said as he lifted his war hammer, “We will not allow them to feed tonight.” 

Bilba stared at him with desperation. She couldn’t lose her family, not now, not again. 

“Thorin,” she pleaded. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pulling on his large furred coat. He hadn’t worn it since the night he first arrived. “We’ll be back before dawn. Stay safe.” 

And he walked out the door, a sword in his hand, an axe on his belt, and his tunic covered with armor. 

He marched down the path, Nori and Bifur following, and all traces of hobbit culture disappearing before her eyes. Thorin looked like a king, a dwarf, like the man who stormed in her door months before, darkened and hurt. Bilba turned to Dwalin, who had his axes strapped to his back and a hammer in his hands. His eyes were sad, but set in determination. 

“You keep him _safe_ ,” Bilba commanded, fear replaced with fury, “Do you hear me? He comes back in one piece. I don’t care if you have to drag him back by his cloak but he will come to no harm tonight, understand?!” 

Dwalin’s eyes were serious but Bilba was sure she saw a tiny smirk on his lips as he bowed. 

“Yes, Lady Bilba,” he said, and was out the door before she could tell him to not call her that. Her fast breathing calmed in a moment and she slammed the door, bolting all the locks. Thorin had the keys on him, but no Warg would bust down that door. 

“We need to get to the basement,” Dori called. She nodded. Bofur already had his mattock and Bilba grabbed her small sword as they headed for the cellar. The children were shaking, holding on to the adults and whimpering. Bilba got a basket of snacks from the pantry and followed the dwarves downstairs, locking the door behind her. 

It was going to be a very long night. 

\----------------------------------------------

Bilba did not want to sleep. She kept getting flashes of the Fell Winter and the dwarf attack throughout the night, and her nightmares would only be worse. Whenever a memory hit her heart and breathing rates sped up, she would get a shiver and nearly lose herself. But something would drag her out of it. Bofur was keeping the kids busy by telling funny stories, and the young laughter would often break her trance. Other times Dori would notice her suffering and lay a caring hand on her shoulder. 

The howls continued for hours, occasionally stopping for some time before restarting. Bilba wondered how the dwarves were doing. Where were they? What of the other hobbits? 

So Bilba tried to keep herself busy. A little knitting, some crochet, anything to keep her mind distracted. 

It must have been the middle of the night when the children all finally went to sleep. Ori in Dori’s arms and Fíli and Kíli using Bofur’s hat as a pillow. The adults sat in an uneasy silence, the howling of the Wargs mixing with the wind’s. Bofur still held his mattock in his lap and Bilba had her sword by her side. 

“He’ll be okay, right?” she asked quietly. The men glanced at each other. 

“Those warriors would die before they let Thorin fall,” Dori said. 

“Aye, and they’ve faced worse. Once the Wargs see dinner isn’t coming easy they’ll run back to their caves,” Bofur agreed. Bilba curled up with her arms around her knees and nodded, mostly to herself. They weren’t being very comforting, but it was better than nothing. 

“Hey,” she said turning back to them with curiosity in her eyes, “Why did you all stay loyal? All the other dwarves, they turned on him and his family. What made you not?” Bofur grew a small smile and his eyes drifted to the boys. 

“Actually lass, most dwarves in Ered Luin are still loyal if they were honest. Problem is it’s just not safe anymore. Things are bad back home, poverty, crime, hunger, and it’s the big warriors and the greedy merchants who are running things. I doubt they really think Thorin is a danger, not all of them anyway. They just wanted his power. But the majority of folks can’t say a word against them without bringing trouble to their door.” 

“But he was their king!” 

“And now he is gone. Dead and gone, for all they know,” Dori said. “These are a poor people, Bilba. No insurances, little food. Families with children. How can they stand up to a mob full of soldiers and politicians?” Dori sighed. “I know many who weren’t very fond of the line of Durin after Thror’s mistakes, but none would have tried to hurt the family, and they knew Thorin was better than any of those bureaucrats. Now…now they just try to get by.” 

“So what makes him trust you?” Bilba asked hesitantly. The dwarves laughed lightly. 

“Some bandits came to Ered Luin a few years ago, and Nori got stuck in a bad place,” Dori began with a slightly irritated tone, “Thorin and his soldiers drove them out of town and saved Nori’s skin. Even as a thief he has some honor. Pledged his life to Thorin and said he could be relied on. Our family is distantly related to his, by marriage actually, but I’ve known Thorin’s friend Balin since childhood. They knew we were on his side.” 

“And my father and Bifur were at Azanulbizar,” Bofur interjected, “Neither were real warriors at the time. Miners, you know. But our clan is from Moria and they wanted to fight. My father didn’t make it, and Bifur came back with the axe. But if it hadn’t been for Thorin, he wouldn’t have come back at all. Thorin’s a good dwarf, despite what others will say. And those boys are as innocent as they come, if you don’t count a few pranks.” 

That made Bilba smile. She hoped the boys would stay young for as long as possible. They didn’t need to grow up any more than they already had. 

Another howl cut through the air, closer and louder than any previous. Bilba gulped. 

“Do you think that they could—“ 

A roar that sounded like it was in the back yard interrupted her. Bofur’s fingers tightened around his mattock. 

“You two stay here with the kids,” Bofur said and rose from the ground, “I’m going to—“

Suddenly there was a horrible scratching noise, like an axe carving at a tree. 

“Mahal above,” Dori muttered, “The backdoor!” 

Bilba’s stomach dropped and her blood ran cold. They could hear the beast ravaging the wooden door above them, the metal hinges creaking under the strain. The children began to stir and wake, blinking around in the dark cellar. 

“Bibba?” Kíli mumbled, “Whass going on?” 

Bilba stood up shakily, sword in hand and heart beating against the confines of her ribs. 

“Stay with the kids,” Bofur ordered as he scooped up his hat. 

“Dori, stay with the children,” Bilba replied. She gripped her sword tightly and gave Bofur a stubborn look. He huffed in irritation but didn’t stop her from following him as they headed upstairs. 

\-------------------------------------------

“Is that all of them?” Nori shouted to the others over the wind. 

“Thought I saw one run away,” Dwalin called back. 

“We need to head back,” Thorin ordered, “before we wander any farther.”

Because, as it happened, the appearance of the dwarves had been quite a shock to the Wargs, who had been expecting an easy feast. After Dwalin had smashed the first one’s head in with his hammer, the pack had retreated into the forest. The dwarves followed. 

And had traveled rather far into the forest, leaving a long journey home through the snow. 

\----------------------------------------------

“Stay behind me, lass,” Bofur whispered as they crept down the hall, the sounds of the Warg getting louder as they approached. The dwarf slowed as they reached the doorway to the back room. He turned back to Bilba and with one final nod and gulp, they leapt to kill the beast, just as it finally beat down the door. 

\----------------------------------------------

“I think I’ve found that last one’s trail!” Nori yelled to the others. 

“Where’d it go?” Dwalin asked. 

“South,” he answered. “Towards…” Nori felt a pit form in his stomach, “Bag End.” 

The dwarves froze in a moment of horror as their eyes met. 

“Run!” Thorin roared. 

\-------------------------------------------------

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves! Next time I tell you to stay back, you _STAY BACK_ ,” Bilba ranted angrily as she patched the wound on Bofur’s right shoulder. “I swear! I won’t let you have any more of my pipeweed or ale if you make such foolish decisions!” 

“Thorin would have done worse if I hadn’t,” the miner muttered before he clenched his jaw in pain. 

The beast had broken through the doorway just as they had entered Bilba’s back room, launching itself at them with claws at the front. The dwarf and hobbit had jumped to opposite sides, dashing behind it. The Warg lashed out, its back leg kicking Bofur into the wall and thoroughly winding him. It had trouble turning in the small area, and Bilba managed to knick it a few times on its hind before it faced her. The beast growled and she sliced, slashing blood from its snout. She backed away as it stalked towards her, cornering the hobbit. In a flash, Bofur’s mattock slammed into its skull, knocking the Warg away. It lunged at him, a claw raking his shoulder. He screamed, and Bilba charged the beast. Her sword tore at its neck and it turned its drooling maw towards her. Bofur tried to get up, grunting in pain and Bilba shouted at him to stay down. She continued to swing at the monster, but didn’t have the reach or angle to do much damage. But with the Warg distracted, Bofur was able to struggle to his feet and swing his mattock, laying a stunning blow to its head. Downed and dazed, the Warg didn’t fight when Bilba sunk her sword into its skull. 

Now, however, Bofur was lying on her dining room table as she attempted to wrap his wound with what she had at hand. Bilba had shouted at Dori that they were clear, and he had tucked the kids to bed and run out the door to get the Hobbiton doctor. Because wrapping a claw graze with doilies wasn’t exactly hygienic. 

“Next time a beast runs into my house I will feed it a steak before letting you go at it with a mattock! For pities sake, what were you thinking?!” Bilba raged absent-mindedly. Bofur only smiled at how the lass’s face reddened. He would call her adorable if he wasn’t busy ignoring a vast amount of pain. But he did speak up when she grabbed a cloth to cover the cut. 

“Whoa, lass! You’re not wrapping me with a dishcloth, are you?”

“Excuse me, this is a doily, not a dishcloth!” 

“But it’s full of holes!”

“It's supposed to look like that, it's crochet.” 

“Oh, and a wonderful game it is too, if you got the balls for it,” he joked, then winced in pain. 

“Bother and confusticate you dwarves. Will you never learn? I mean really, going after a Warg? Didn’t you think that would be so dangerous as to necessitate a little more than a mining tool?” 

“Oh aye,” Bofur chuckled weakly, “They’ll rip the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.” 

“Oh be quiet.” 

“Think mace, with legs.”

“I will hit you.”

“Bellowing roar, agonizing pain, and you’re nothing more than a pile of scat—Ow! What was that for?!” 

\-------------------------------------------------

When the warriors arrived at Bag End and found the children sleeping soundly, Bilba and Dori sipping tea by the fire, and Bofur’s shoulder wrapped in bandages, they were rather surprised. 

Bilba just told them where they could drag the carcass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT THIS FANART GUUUUYYYYYYSSSSS  
> THIS FANART IS AMAZING  
> I AM REALLY THANKFUL AND AMAZED THAT SOMEONE WOULD MAKE ME FANART YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/837018/chapters/1594453 
> 
> AND MY SENPAI NOTICED ME AND I'M REALLY HAPPY


	17. Eat, Play, Love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy chapter to repay for all the pain in the last few.   
> And romance!

For those who truly understand and have a deep knowledge of hobbits, it is an accepted fact that when faced with violence, pain, or anything else dark and cruel in the world, the greatest survivalist quality of hobbits is their resilience. They may not be wise strategists, or fierce fighters, or even brave warriors, but they are able to suffer greatly and still return to a healthy state. As a race that is physically smaller and weaker than any other, this has been and still is a necessity, and is viewed as one of Yavanna’s great gifts to her children. Like their ability to farm hilly land or sneak around without being seen, the hobbits’ innate ability to heal from great trauma is difficult to explain. Some biologists have hypothesized that it is perhaps the hobbits’ unique diet that keeps their bodies so healthy and balanced they are able to recuperate faster. Many philosophers have theorized that it is perhaps because the hobbits have no other defense. They are not thick-skinned nor hard-headed, and if emotional or physical traumas were able to subdue them for long, the hobbits would have died out long ago. 

The truth of the matter is that both of these ideas are wrong. 

To describe the hobbits, it is easiest to do so in comparison. Take for example, the dwarves. Their maker Mahal carved them from the stone, able to endure whatever the world had without change. The dwarves are hardy and stubborn, but unfortunately, should one be scarred, such cracks in their foundations would remain forever. Hobbits, on the other hand, were crafted by Yavanna in a similar fashion to the plants they so devotedly tend. They are not unmoving or innately powerful, but there is always potential within them, most notably the ability to adapt. As a vine may wrap around a tree or a fence or itself, the hobbits are able to endure great strife and in the end can return to their original state afterwards. While more easily hurt, they heal faster and easier, with minimal traces of pain left behind, like a blade of grass stepped upon, or a tree that has lost many of its branches.

The Fell Winter has been one of the rare cases wherein the hobbits still remember their suffering. This is due to the significant emotional trauma as well as the far-reaching stretch of the snow and darkness. While hobbits usually find comfort in the company of others’ innocent and caring hearts, the cruel season affected them all, and thus left a much longer-lasting memory among the halflings. 

However, in such cases as the attack on Ms. Bilba Baggins, the resilience of hobbits did not fail. As winter began to fade, the shadows in her eyes did the same, and the return of spring promised brighter days for all. The snow was beginning to melt, the ice was dripping away, and the sun finally broke through to shine upon the hobbits. 

One fine day in early spring found Bilba on her front bench, wrapped up warm but enjoying the light. Fíli, Kíli, and Ori were running around the yard, making the last few snowmen of the season. Most of the dwarves were out, stretching their legs and working at the market. All but Thorin were gone, and he soon joined Bilba on the bench, pipe in hand. She gently leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched the children scamper about. He offered her the pipe and she took it, blowing a smoke ring that earned an impressed snort from the dwarf king. 

“Bilba! Bilba! Look what I found!” Ori exclaimed as she dashed up to the adults, a small bunch of flowers in her hand. Bilba leaned forward to gaze and smile at the white petals as the boys rushed to Ori’s side. 

“The daisies are coming back!” Kíli cheered and jumped up and down, his hair flapping with him. 

“Those, my dear Kíli, are snowdrops. In flower language, they mean hope,” Bilba clarified, watching the children fondly. Thorin smiled too, and put his arm around her shoulders. 

“But we’ll take it as a sign,” he said, “A good omen.”

“You’re right. I do believe the worst is behind us,” Bilba replied, and the children grinned and jumped into their arms, as Bilba taught them all about the different meanings of flowers to come. 

\----------------------------------------------

Not all was joyous and gleeful though, when the dwarves agreed it was time to return to Ered Luin. They had held off leaving for as long as possible, but if they did not go soon it might look suspicious. So Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Dori, Nori, and little Ori packed up their things and said goodbye. 

It was a sad moment for all, each knowing it could be years before they saw the others. Even though the dwarves promised to come back as soon as possible, Thorin knew how long that could mean. They had to keep the Shire out of mention and pretend they hadn’t made any more money than usual. All Thorin could do was hope he would still be alive by the time they made it back, and Bilba wished her new friends all the luck in the worl. The children were balling by the end, but the knowing hobbit calmed Ori down by sneaking a small handbook on Elvish into her bag, and the boys quieted as Ori gave them a sweet smile. 

Still, it took three of the adults to pull Kíli off Dwalin’s leg, and even the hardened warrior appeared misty-eyed at the idea of parting with the Durins. 

Bofur and Bifur lead the way, knowing it would be harder for the others to leave, but Nori followed, and then Dori and Ori. Just before Dwalin made to leave, he pulled Bilba aside with a serious face. 

“Hey, lass. I kept him safe from those Wargs, now I need you to do the same,” Dwalin whispered, “I don’t know when I’ll be back, so keep him and the boys safe for me.” 

“I’ll guard them with my life,” she answered honestly. He nodded, and with one last clap on the back and wave to the Durins, he was off. 

And it was back to just the four of them. 

\----------------------------------------------

Fíli and Kíli were not prone to sadness. As long as they had each other, the sorrow and terror of their lives seemed miles away. Their mother’s death was traumatic, but they had the memorial, and more importantly they had Thorin and Bilba. Their uncle made them feel brave and protected, and the hobbit lass kept their hearts happy and laughing. 

Of course, Fíli always looked out for Kíli in worry something bad might happen, and Kíli made sure that his brother always found time to relax. After the dwarves left, Bilba and Thorin did put Fíli in a room of his own, which both boys were fine with, though they still spent virtually every waking moment together. 

They played with the other hobbit children, studied Sindarin and other subjects with Bilba, and made Thorin tell them old dwarf stories before bed. Both knew they had unusual childhoods; they had seen and suffered more than most children of any race, but their lives were looking up, and they intended to enjoy their days as carefree, irresponsible kids as much as possible, before they really did have to grow up. 

So when Bilba mentioned a sleep-over at the Tooks’, they jumped at the chance. 

\-------------------------------------------

“Thanks again, Aunt Rosa. I don’t think they’ve ever gotten a chance to do something like this,” Bilba said as she hugged her family goodbye. 

“Well then we’re all the more happy to have them, dear,” Rosa replied. Fíli and Kíli were already running around with the other boys. There were Tooks, Brandybucks, Boffinses, Chubbs, Noakes, Proudfoots (though there is still some debate over whether they should be called Proudfeet), Underhills, and Whitfoots. Hobbits loved their parties, and an all-boys slumber party was no different, though more than likely there would be no sleeping taking place. “Now you enjoy a break from the boys and we’ll drop them off after second breakfast. Oh, are they allergic to anything?” 

“Not that I’ve seen; they’ll eat anything not green,” Bilba said, “Good luck with them, though. They are the very definition of double trouble.”

“Oh now darling, we’re Tooks! I think we can handle the daring dwarf duo. And you best be on your way! Don’t want to keep your man waiting,” Rosa chuckled with a wink and a nudge. Bilba blushed red and nearly stuttered, but Rosa merely closed the door with a laugh, and Bilba made her way home. 

She had been looking forward to a night alone with Thorin, but her family didn’t need to know that!

\-------------------------------------------------

Bilba yawned as she entered Bag End, closing the door behind her and strode to look for Thorin. He was lying on the couch in front of a crackling fire, already in his nightclothes and reading one of her books on wild animals. He glanced up and smiled when she entered the room and breathed easily. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked contentedly. 

“What?” Bilba said in confusion, spinning around to try and hear the noise. 

“Nothing. No Wargs, no dwarves, no boys. Silence,” he said, leaning back on his pillows with a sigh. 

“I’m surprised you’re not begging to have them returned,” Bilba laughed. 

“I will miss them, yes, but I do enjoy being able to hear myself think.”

“I know the feeling,” Bilba called as she walked to her room. 

The walk back from the Tooks was a long one and it was getting late. She changed into a long, soft nightgown and wrapped a fluffy robe around herself for warmth. They were always so comfy; she could lie in them for days. When she made her way back to the sitting room Thorin looked up. His face appeared surprised for a fraction of a second before he snapped his head back to the book. Bilba remained in the doorway, watching him with concerned eyes. He had seemed a little slower since the others had left. She remembered how he had been before they arrived, slowly adapting to hobbit culture and just beginning to let her get close to him. He had gone back to that the past few days, seeming distant despite their blossoming relationship. 

It was springtime for pities’ sake! The time of romance and love and new beginnings! Hobbits made flower chains and had weddings and more babies were born this season than any other. 

Bilba sighed internally. She knew Thorin didn’t know any of that. He was a dwarf, and deep down he always would be. Dori had told her a lot about dwarven courtships, and most of it was similar; couples traded gifts (though dwarves would usually trade things they had crafted, and hobbits would trade food and flowers), they spent time together doing things they enjoyed (though dwarves would usually go on walks through mountains while hobbits would stroll through open fields), and in the end the families were asked to bless the match (though each dwarf would be virtually interrogated by the other’s family when hobbits would just make them dinner). 

Probably the greatest difference was the length of such courtships. Dwarves could court for over a decade just to prove their worth and dedication to each other. Hobbits rarely courted for more than two years (while dwarves could last for over two decades if necessary) and often married after one. Thorin had been shocked when she told him, but Bilba had explained that most hobbits knew each other since childhood, and even if they didn’t you could still learn everything you needed to know about a hobbit in a month’s time. Courtships just tested if the two were romantically compatible. Some were and some weren’t, no harm done. 

Thorin seemed happy to take the hobbit road on such things, but Bilba did want him to hold onto his culture somewhat, even if it just was for the sake of Fíli and Kíli. 

But they had been courting for over four months and had barely spent a moment alone. 

“Thorin?” she asked tenderly, “Are you alright?” Bilba crept tentatively to the couch and sat next to him, as he stared resolutely into the fire. 

“I’m fine,” he said stubbornly, turning away from her slightly. 

“You’re tense,” she countered, “And more than usual.” She waited a moment but he didn’t respond. “Thorin?” 

“I’m—You’re…” He huffed in frustration and turned back to her. “We’re alone.”

“I’m aware,” Bilba answered straightly. 

“In dwarf courtships…” Thorin took a deep breath, “Couples tend to have a chaperone, or at least aren’t alone. At night. In one’s home.” 

“Should I go get a chaperone?” Bilba asked dryly, cocking an eyebrow. Thorin looked at her for a moment and blinked. 

“No,” Thorin said soon enough. Bilba grinned. 

“Now would you look at this, a little hobbit like me corrupting the dwarf king,” she giggled. He laughed as well, and Bilba sighed. “Thorin,” she began a bit more seriously, “If you do feel uncomfortable with anything, like there is a dwarf custom I break, please tell me and we can fix it. But I do think we are both grown adults, not young teenagers on a fling. My father isn’t going to hunt you down. We can make our own decisions on how to pace this. I mean, we are already living together.” Thorin nodded and his shoulders appeared to relax. 

“I am just getting reaquainted with hobbit life. Having the dwarves around, it seemed like I was still in Ered Luin. I have to remind myself I’m among hobbits and your customs.” Bilba smiled warmly to herself. He was at least trying to make an effort. For a king, it was touching. 

“Then I shall teach you another,” Bilba said and stood up from the couch, reaching a hand out to him. “It’s not so much a custom as a tendency, but we hobbits are gifted cuddlers.”

“What?” Thorin asked with more than a little nervousness. He was staring at her with wide eyes and she saw his apple bob as he gulped. She blushed and smiled. 

“Thorin, we are courting, living together, and raising your nephews. And yet we haven’t had a moment of privacy in months! I think we can get away with one night in the same bed,” Bilba said. 

“But…Bilba, we are not married. I would not besmirch—“

“You wouldn’t be besmirching anything, Thorin. I have no intention of going so far as to _risk_ anything, but among hobbits it is in agreement that any good relationship has a healthy amount of kissing. And now the boys aren’t able to spy on us.” 

Thorin gazed up at the hobbit, all bundled up in her silky and supple clothes with a faint smile as the fire danced behind her. Bilba’s honey curls were positively golden in the firelight, and her blush was sweet to his eyes. Her fingers, reaching out to him, beckoning him, were delicate and gentle, and the gleam in her eyes was utterly heartfelt. 

Here was the woman he loved, the hobbit to whom he owed his life, and he was awestruck. 

But he waited a second too long and her face faltered. 

“If you do not wish to, we don’t have to,” she said quietly and lowered her hand. It startled Thorin back to life. 

“No! No, I wish to, I simply am not…,” Thorin searched for the words as he rose from his seat and took her hand, “practiced in such things.”

“Well, then allow me to educate you, Thorin Oakenshield. We hobbits are the masters of snuggling.”

And with that, they wandered down the hall to her bedroom.

\----------------------------------------------------

Fíli and Kíli were having a blast. They had never been to a sleepover, and were amazed by the lack of sleeping. The boys were running around, playing games and eating delightful treats. There was tag, drawing, wrestling, board games, hide and seek, scavenger hunts, and for once Fíli and Kíli did not feel the need to be by each others’ sides. They split up, playing what they wanted when they wanted and made new friends. 

A few hours passed and one of the men covering the party called for a midnight meal (because if hobbits are going to be up so late they must eat) which was full of cake and candy and the boys knew they would fall asleep any time soon. But they were both astounded by how much the hobbits could eat! The other boys their ages were eating as much as the brothers combined!

Hobbits were undoubtedly incredible creatures. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Thorin woke sometime later, wrapped up in the covers on Bilba’s bed, with her in his arms. She was still in her nightgown, and he had his sleeping pants on. She slept easily, her breathing smooth and soft against his neck. The heat she put off was shocking and he was glad he had one arm above the blankets. But he nuzzled his nose in her curls and inhaled, the scent of baked goods resonating in his mind. 

Thorin remembered the day he had first begun training her to use a sword, how they fit so well together when he showed her how to disarm an opponent. He had had his arms around her, his hands on hers, swaying in the wind as one. The dwarf smiled to himself. It had been a wonderful time, and back then he had no idea where it might lead, but he was happy he had ended up where he was. Theirs had been a rocky start, but here they were. 

Her hands rested on his chest, fingers nestled in the dark hair atop his muscles. His bulky arms encircled her waist, and his chin sat just above her head on the pillows. There had been a matter of figuring where to place their feet, largely due to the size difference, but they managed with some snickering along the way. 

The kissing had been Thorin’s favorite part, slow and loving to quick and laughing to deep and passionate and around again. The pair had been in the midst tickle fight after Thorin discovered Bilba’s sensitive sides, and Bilba was struggling to either escape his hold or find his weak spot when their lips had met on accident (or at least they acted like it was). But they had continued for some time, enjoying each other’s company and the solitude, when Bilba kissed his ear. 

He had gently pulled back in surprise and she blushed, remembering in that moment that his ears were not like hers. But he took it as his own permission, and kissed hers until she was all aflutter. 

At some point they had fallen asleep, tired and contented. They would have the whole morning to themselves, and for that he was grateful. Had the dwarves been privy to any of this, the harrassment would continue for months, but this was their time, away from the stresses of life, lost to the warmth and comfort of each other. 

“Thorin?” Bilba said softly, stirring from her sleep and blinking up at him, “Trouble sleeping?” 

“No,” he answered quietly, “Just appreciating the view.” He smirked as she rolled her eyes, and he kissed her again. She pulled her arms around his muscled midsection, pulling the pair closer, and he melted into her once more. 

\----------------------------------------------------

The morning found the boys in a dog pile, having dozed for barely a few hours. The older hobbits were making first breakfast and Fíli and Kíli tip-toed around the others, eager to beat them to the meal lest they not get any. The adults smiled at the boys and let them fill their plates, and they ate silently with knowing grins to each other. There would be more games, but food came first, and boy was there food. 

There was bacon, biscuits, bagels and bearclaws. The kitchen was filled with cereal, cinnamon rolls, and croissants. Eggs in all forms were cooking on the stove, and fruit bowls darted the table. Grits and granola were ready for eating; ham, hash browns, and homefries were served. Maple syrup was there by the jug, and monkey bread and muffins were all around. There were pancakes, pastries, and bowls of porridge, along with sausage, scones, and sticky buns. Aunt Rosa made excellent toast and waffles, and the boys felt like they might explode by the end. 

As the other boys awoke there was a steady stream into the kitchen, and the food began to disappear. Fíli and Kíli played with renewed energy and rambunctiousness to rival the greats. It was a very active morning at the Tooks’. 

\-------------------------------------------------

It was a very slow morning at Bag End. 

The couple woke late and stayed in bed later, no rush in their actions. They kissed lazily and lovingly, relishing every second they could. Eventually Bilba wandered from bed, the call of breakfast too much for the hobbit. Thorin quickly but reluctantly followed, a jealous frown coating his face. 

“You would choose breakfast over me?” he asked with pretend anger at the table as Bilba started cooking at the stove. 

“Yes, of course. Breakfast has always been there for me. I’ve known breakfast since I was a baby, and it has never let me down. Never said a mean word, never talked back. Never tickled me without remorse.” 

“I thought you liked that!” Thorin snorted, “So you’re having an affair with a meal. I should ask what it has that I don’t, but you probably have a list.” 

“I do, though please don’t tell lunch, dinner, and supper. It would break their hearts.” 

Thorin merely shook his head and rose, putting his arms around Bilba from behind. She leaned into him, and for a while they just swayed there as Bilba finished the food. 

And then Thorin stole the entire plate of bacon and Bilba declared war. 

\----------------------------------------------

When Fíli and Kíli returned home at the hands of Aunt Rosa (who had looked Bilba up and down and then grinned knowingly) they were ecstatic, telling their guardians all about what had happened. It had been a fun night for all apparently. 

The boys, still bursting with energy, managed to catch Thorin off guard and tackled him to the sitting room floor. He wrestled with them, all in laughter and joy, and the two fought a losing battle. 

“Bilba! Help us!” Fíli cried, attempting to put Thorin in a choke-hold, despite the fact that his uncle’s neck thicker than the boy’s limbs. 

“We gotta kill the beast!” Kíli shouted in high-pitched euphoria as Thorin tickled him. 

“I will eat you all!” Thorin roared in response, grabbing the two by the backs of their shirts and pulling them off to his sides, still lying on his back. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Bilba cried, and she jumped on him, running her hands over the parts of him she had discovered were ticklish. 

“No!” he yelled and tried to turn over, but he had released the boys in his struggle, and they quickly sat on his hands. 

“Haha! How do you like it?” 

“You miserable hobbit!” he bellowed, though with a grin and a laugh, “I am betrayed!” But Thorin was not beaten yet. With a mighty roar he snagged each lad with one hand and wrapped his arms around Bilba, bear-hugging them. Fíli and Kíli screamed in delight and excitement and Bilba squirmed in his arms, half-heartedly fighting for freedom as his booming laughter surrounded her. She had never heard such a wonderful sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I had originally planned for the dwarves to only stay for one chapter, but then my brain plot-blocked me and the rest is history...


	18. Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at how the Company is doing back home. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay, but I really wanted to get this chapter right. I know a lot of people go through really hard times in life. I certainly have. But it gets better. I have been there and made it out and hope everyone else can do the same. 
> 
> So this chapter is a little dark, a little sad, and it shows how bad life is for some of the dwarves. 
> 
> But like I said, things will get better, sooner or later.

Bifur was happy to be back in Ered Luin.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked the Shire; no, he had loved the hobbits and their villages. They were a gentle race, and Bifur was one of the few dwarves who would not talk poorly of them for it. Really, he was jealous, but he had enjoyed his stay nonetheless. The hobbits had been kind and patient with him, not demanding or insulting or cruel to him in the countless other ways Men had been. Bifur had gotten his far share of odd looks in Hobbiton, but most had looked on with concern, not judgement. After Bofur had assured them he wasn’t in need of medical help, the hobbits were fine with him, and bought many of his toys. The children were shy to him at first, but once he showed them his little bird with flapping wings they had been quick to friend. A few brave ones even asked to touch the axe in his skull, and he was happy to let them. 

Bifur had always found that being a spectacle was better than being a freak. 

But the point remained; he had loved the Shire, but he also loved home. 

And while most assumed his life was just as hard among dwarves as it was among other races, they were wrong. His inability to speak anything other than Khuzdul was no hindrance when he was surrounded by dwarves. His voice did break once in a while, but it was no more difficult for a dwarf to understand him than if he’d had a lisp or stutter. 

The only trouble was his tendency to drift off, disappearing into his own head for periods of random thoughts that little could break him out of. Whatever he was thnking about had as much chance of being relevant to his current situation as it was to be completely random. Like what if his cousins had reversed hair colors? If Bombur had Bofur’s black locks and Bofur had his brother’s fiery hair? Bombur would look right scary, with a chubby red face surrounded by a dark black mass. Certainly not the shy but jolly fellow he was. And Bofur? Bofur would look like his head was on fire with the way his braids swept out. 

What would happen if his braids did get set on fire? They’re all shaped like fuses! And Bombur’s beard chain would wrap him in flames! He’d look like a pig getting roasted! Not that he would be very good to eat. Probably has worms….in his…tubes? 

Nasty business. Wouldn’t risk it. 

Of course, Bifur did eat that onion straight out of the ground but really what harm could that—

Wait. 

Right. 

Back to the matter at hand. 

The small dwarven troupe had finally returned to Ered Luin in the middle of spring, and Bifur was happy to be home, where people understood him, warriors respected him, and the children loved him. However dark and cruel the merchants and high-ranking soldiers were being, Bifur could stand it. He had taken an axe to the skull! What were they going to do? Rip it out?

They could very well try. He certainly had. Blasted thing was stuck to his face. He couldn’t exactly pop it like a pimple. Pop, pop, pop, nosiree, couldn’t do that with the axe. Pop, pop, pop, sorry buddy, Bifur was relaxed. Pop, pop, pop. 

Poppity pop pop. 

Pippity pop pop. 

Peppity pop pop. 

Wait, _what?_

Anyway, there was little that scared Bifur nowadays. He’d faced down orcs and Wargs and Goblin Kings and—no wait. He hadn’t done that last one. 

But Bombur’s kids were waiting for him, and that always drew him back to the world. 

The little tykes had a wide age range, and there were almost too many to keep track of. But Bifur never mixed any of them up, never forgot a birthday, and made sure there was always food on the table. 

He had lost his wife and child. Bombur would not face the same fate. 

Fate. 

A funny thing, isn’t it?

Some people say your fate is chosen for you. Some say you choose your fate. Your destiny is inevitable, that is what Bifur believed. But it was neither what you chose nor what someone else decided. It was how the world worked around you, other people included, and how you interacted with them. Bifur had not chosen the axe, and the orc had not chosen for him to live. But here he was. 

Bifur didn’t know his fate. Not in the slightest. But it didn’t matter. 

What happened, happened. That was life. 

Bifur took what came to him and kept going. It wasn’t always pleasant, but it wasn’t always awful. Maybe trudging through the bad times to get to the good was just habit, or maybe instinct, or perhaps just his own stubbornness. But he didn’t see an alternative. 

He had known wounded verterans that had taken their own lives, too scarred or horrified or pained to continue on. Bifur didn’t judge them for their actions. He had not been through what he had, and he had not been through they had. He simply did not follow the same route. 

Bifur looked at life like he did the axe. 

It was always there. 

Sometimes it was painful. 

Sometimes it was annoying. 

Sometimes the people around him had a problem with it. 

And other times, he didn’t even notice it was there. 

When he looked in the mirror and saw the axe, he remembered the young soldier whose life he had saved by taking the blade. 

He remembered the two little boys who he had raised to be men, who were now raising children. 

He remembered the wife and child he had loved and lost. 

And Bifur remembered life before the axe. 

It had been different, easier and less painful. 

But he only had one life to live. 

And he wanted to spend every second he could. 

Some said that people’s lives needed meaning or purpose; that for a life to be justified it must serve some goal, be that saving lives or helping the environment or fighting cruelty. 

Bifur disagreed. 

Those were all good reasons to live, but they were not the only ones. 

Bifur did not need to save others to justify his existence, though he was happy to help others whenever he could. 

Bifur did not need to fix all the world’s problems to explain himself, though he would if he could. 

Bifur did not feel the need to change the world to feel worthy of living. 

He was content to let the world change him. 

Bifur wanted to see the world, in all its forms before he returned to the rock. He wanted to explore forests and ride rivers and eat salads in an elvish city (though he did not dare tell any dwarf that). He had loved the Shire and he loved his home and he wondered what else in all of Middle Earth he might love. 

Who could say he was not worthy of life just because he wanted to really live?

Fate. Funny thing, isn’t it?

But for now, Bifur was at home with his family, and he was happy to be back in Ered Luin. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Ori was not happy to be back in Ered Luin. 

In fact, she was downright angry. 

Not only was she now separated from her two best friends in all of Middle Earth, she was also surrounded by boys who thought her soft, girls who thought she was ugly, and she couldn’t trust any of them or their parents to not be the evil monsters who had killed super-amazing and really kind and quite lovely Lady Dis. 

In Hobbiton, Ori had been loved for her sweetness, her eloquence, and her braids. Here, she was seen as a poor, fatherless miscreant, weak and shrimpy and unlikely to go from ugly duckling to startling swan any time soon. 

But at least she had her books. Bilba had given her many besides the one on elvish (which she studied diligently), and she cherished them all. There were princesses and princes, warriors and thieves, dragons and heroes, love and loss, and even a few grand transformations. Ori escaped into these books, the tales and legends, and she found her own adventures. 

In her world, she was not Ori the Tiny and Helpless. She was Ori the Tiny and Brilliant and Magnificent and an Excellent Writer and Adventurer and possibly a Princess and/or Queen. The dirt roads of Ered Luin were no longer there; they were the forests and deserts and cobblestone streets that the Great and Wondrous Ori explored, drawing and writing her findings. The dwarves were both friends and foes, from the nice and cheery Baker Belora who gave Ori treats on the sly to save the starving adventuress from certain death, to the devious and dangerous Slate, the guardhouse dog that always threatened to tear her limb from limb. 

Her life, her world, was written anew in Ori’s head. And it was an amazing world. Not always joyful and sunny, but never boring. 

Some days she dreamed of being like Dori, a gentle tea maker with the strength of a stone giant. Other times she wanted to follow Nori’s steps, becoming a figure in the shadows, only seen by those wished. 

But she could be both of them and a hundred others all in one day, facing the villains of everyday life. 

Like Little Miss Cynara daughter of Lord Bynar, the uncaring, unkind, unrelenting Queen of…of…well let’s go with Dark and Evil Spiders. Sure, that'll work. 

It was the first day back in Ered Luin when Ori was picturing herself running across the rooftops like they were tree branches in a forest, shooting arrows at enemies below, when Cynara and her little pack of mean girls strode up to her with disdainful looks. 

“Look what the pony dragged in,” Cynara sneered at Ori who was sitting on a small pile of boxes against the wall of Dori’s tea shop. “If it isn’t Ori the Ogre.” At the moment, Ori wouldn’t have minded being an ogre if it meant she could eat the girls. 

“Hi, Cynara,” Ori said gingerly, the thought of her devouring them as an ogre all too pleasing to resist a smile. “How was the winter?” 

“Delightful, without you stinking up the whole city,” the girl growled. “Why did you even come back?” 

“Believe me, I didn’t want to,” Ori murmured, but spoke up a second later. “Master Balin is taking me on as an apprentice,” she declared proudly, because even if they didn’t respect her, everyone respected Master Balin. Even Cynara the Spider Queen. With her poisonous pincers spewing venomous words and somebody ought to fight her…

The girls looked a little stunned by the fact, and it even took their ringleader a moment to respond. 

“I didn’t know Master Balin was fostering orphans,” Cynara replied with a dark smile, knowing Ori’s weakspot that she didn’t even bother to hide. Ori snapped upright in a flash, a fiery glare on her face. But Cynara didn’t stop. “Or is he your father? With all the men your mother slept with it would be difficult to tell but—"

_SMACK!_

Ori’s fist collided with Cynara’s nose with a bloody spray, and the others gasped and shrieked as the Lord’s daughter fell to the dirty ground. 

“Don’t ever talk about my mother, you _nadorhuan! Llie n'vanima ar' lle atara lanneina!”_

And in the wake of the girls’ shock, Ori ran.

She ran through the forests and deserts and cobblestone streets. She felt tiny and brilliant and magnificent and adventurous and there was no one in the world that could convince Ori she wasn’t a queen. She laughed so hard as she ran it was difficult to breathe. And when Ori dashed into the alley behind her house and up the wall and into the window like Nori did when he came home late, she fell into a pile of giggles on the floor. When Nori popped his head into his own room where he had heard the odd noises, just to find his baby sister grinning like a madman with blood on her knuckles, he quickly slipped back out and let her enjoy the moment. She deserved it. 

Despite growing up in a rough world, Ori had never doubted that words were more powerful than weapons, that ideas and beliefs and knowledge were the keys to success. Imagination, understanding, patience; the amount of these qualities a person had defined who they were. Violence was a tool of monsters and underhanded fools. 

Even Nori. 

Speech and conviction was how one should fight. Even in the tales she read from the library, Ori wished more of them had ended in peace talks rather than great and bloody battles. 

But in light of recent events, Ori decided something for herself. 

That not all things could be solved with words. 

Some people were too angry, too cruel to be stopped. Orcs and goblins, too vile to reason with. Stuck-up, poison-tongued girls? Too stubborn to admit their wrong-doing. Words, as wonderful as they were, could not kill a Warg. 

And in such cases, a stand must be taken. 

One that does not involve a podium. 

Ori was a tiny child. She was small and weak and not what most would deem pretty. 

But she was brilliant and magnificent and one day she would be an excellent writer and an adventuress and a princess and a queen. Her body would be as strong as her mind and she would show all that philosophy was better than physicality. 

But for now, she would not allow anyone to use words, her one and only weapon, against her mother or anyone she cared about. 

And Ori was happy to be back in Ered Luin. 

\----------------------------------------------------

Bofur was glad to be back in Ered Luin. 

The Blue Mountains were the only home he had ever known, born and raised. He knew every forest, every mine, and nearly every dwarf. And he was finally back to his family. 

His little brother was as jolly as ever and Bombur’s wife was sweet like sugar. Their children were bundles of joy and energy, and were always excited to see him. They helped him figure out which toys would sell best, and he gave them each the newest models to show off to their friends. 

He loved to see them smile. Kids needed happiness in their lives. If they didn’t have it, they were never really kids. So Bofur made sure there was food on the table, beds for each one, and that they laughed every day. It made his heart both weaker and stronger. 

He wanted to give them the childhood he never had. Bofur had been born just a couple of decades after the fall of Erebor, and was most certainly an accident. And a burden. His parents were young, and taking care of a baby with nothing but scraps wasn’t easy. Ered Luin was still just a small village of shacks, and life was painful on a good day. His father worked in the new mines being opened, his mother a seamstress. They had been good people, just bent underneath the weight of the world. 

Bofur didn’t notice the strain he put on his parents until Bombur was born. Again, an accident. In Erebor, a normal couple would have been thrilled to have two sons in such a short time, and the mother survive both births without permanent harm. But in those days? Two children were a curse, not a gift. 

And Bofur noticed. 

The pitying looks of the neighbors, the weak sighs of his mother after a long day, the glare of his father when Bombur cried for more food. They barely had enough to survive. No toys, one bed and one couch, and days of nothingness. It was a miserable life. 

Which was what drove Bofur to be happy with what he got. 

He decided that he would never complain, never ask for more, never show anything other than joy. He would not be anymore of a burden than he already was. He devoted himself to raising Bombur, so his parents could relax if they had a chance. He gave Bombur shares of his food. He made his brother toys out of extra fire wood(that he had chopped) using a knife that the sly boy from down the street had given him for stopping the larger boys from beating him up (neat thing about smiles, they’re a tad contagious, and Bofur was good with words). When Bombur was old enough to take care of himself Bofur immediately went into the mines to work. He whistled and sang to make the dark tunnels seem bright, he laughed and joked to cheer up his mates. 

Bofur just wanted everyone to be happy. 

Bofur was just a blooming adolescent when Azanulbizar happened. 

He lost his father. His mother lost her love. His cousin gained an axe. 

But he kept going. He mined, Bombur got an apprenticeship with a chef, and that sly boy down the street grew up into a very handsome thief who wasn’t always around but things were great when he was. 

Years passed. Bombur became a cook, Bofur mined and made toys for the new children of Ered Luin, and life took a turn for the best when Bombur met his lovely lass. They married after twelve years of courtship and began having children. Record-breaking numbers of children. 

And Bofur swore that each would have the joys he did not. 

With Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur working, the children lived healthy lives. Ered Luin continued to grow and times seemed peaceful. 

But there was unrest. 

And then there was murder. 

Sometimes, Bofur hated his home. 

Other times, he wondered if it was really his. 

His parents were from Erebor, as were his grandparents and his family before them. But his clan, the Broadbeams, originally hailed from Khazad-Dum, Moria. 

One home taken by a dragon, another by orcs, and the last by those he had called friends. 

Maybe he just didn’t belong anywhere. 

As dark thoughts crept into the mind of the beloved miner, toy-maker, and uncle, his nieces and nephews noticed. They would sit down next to him and ask him for stories or jokes or anything that might make them all laugh. And Bofur would never fail to please, never wishing for anyone to see him sad, to burden them with his melancholy. 

But as he sat in the living room before a blazing fire, delicious smells coming from the kitchen and a large group of children sitting before him with curiosity and excitement, Bofur decided something. 

Home was not where you worked or lived or were born to. 

It was where your heart found joy and peace and love. 

And that could be anywhere, from the darkest pits to the highest mountains. 

But right now that place was here, with his brother and cousin and nieces and nephews, all of which were happy and taken care of. 

Bofur was glad to be back in Ered Luin. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Dori was frustrated about being back in Ered Luin.

The city was hardly what one would hope for. Full of vagrants and crooks, even the people who were now in charge made the place look bad. The guards did their best to keep things in check, but in poverty there is desperation, and there was certainly poverty in Ered Luin. Dori had done his best to keep Ori safe from the dark figures on the street, but keeping her completely innocent was rather difficult when her other brother was one of the best thieves in town. 

Dori, once upon a time, had appreciated his brother’s efforts. Nori’s thefts had kept all three of them alive when times were bad. But now that his tea shop was gaining business, there was no need for Nori to continue. He stole and cheated and lied because he liked it. And it worried Dori. 

Fusspot was what his little brother called him, a worrywart. An easily stressed perfectionist. 

It wasn’t perfection Dori was wishing for. It was safety. 

What if a job went bad? Would Ori lose her older brother? Could her heart take that?

What if Nori angered the wrong person? Would they come after Dori and Ori? Could they defend themselves?

The questions went on and on, but Nori never stopped. Self-assured and carefree, the thief remained a thief. 

Not that Nori was the only annoying thing in Dori’s life. 

The daily leers distracted him plenty from his criminal brother. 

Dori had hoped—wished, prayed, begged—that when he returned to Ered Luin, some of the men would have suddenly matured and no longer make calls at him. That maybe he could walk down a street without getting winked at by complete strangers. 

No such luck. 

It was only his first day back and he had already gotten more cat-calls than a new-born kitten. But he steeled himself, forced himself to not snap their necks, and worked with his tea. It was one of the few things in life that calmed him down. Most of the people who came to his shop were of the upper class, tradesmen and bureaucrats, men who he knew had been in the horrid mob that attacked the Durins. 

He made their tea extra hot. 

Uppercrust or not, plenty of them were just plain rude. Obvious staring at Dori’s rear and looks that were pathetic attempts at smouldering dragged on through the day. 

It wasn’t that Dori couldn’t beat them with his own fists until they were puddles of blood that kept him from doing so, it was that he felt he shouldn’t have to. 

And he prayed that if Ori would one day have his looks, she would also have his strength. Mercy be unto those that touched his little sister, because he would give them none. 

Ori would never face such lustful eyes, not if he had anything to say about it.

But the guardsmen of Ered Luin never saw it as a major problem. If they never assaulted Dori, they couldn’t be charged with a crime, no matter how distinct sexual harassment was from basic flirtation. Dwalin could have them locked up for a day or two if Dori asked, but he never did. Dwalin had his own problems to deal with, not to mention bigger fish to fry. 

So Dori kept quiet about his problems, and stewed in his own head for most of the day. 

Until, finally, Balin came. 

He and Balin had been seeing each other for some time, since Ori had showed prowess in writing and drawing, and Dori had taken her to Master Balin to see if she had real talent worthy of getting an apprenticeship. Balin had been quite impressed with the lass, and had agreed to take her under his wing when she was old enough. 

Dori had at first been worried that Balin would be like other men of his standing, egotistical or demanding, holding his little sister’s future over his head in exchange for favors. But Balin had been nothing but polite, a perfect gentlemen. Dori had been almost flustered by the kind respect he showed. He had considered asking the master to tea or dinner, but never drew up the courage. 

So when Balin popped into his tea shop one day, Dori had been overjoyed. 

Their relationship started quietly, slowly growing from aquaintances to friends to courters to lovers. It was the most proprietary romance, but it made Dori feel alive. 

Was this what thieving was like to Nori?

If it was, then Dori could understand why he did it. 

And after a long first day back, Dori’s shoulders finally relaxed when Balin walked in the door. 

The master looked older, withered and whitening at temples. The loss of the Durins had been hard on them all, and Balin had been put under the strain of practically running the entire city by himself. 

But that’s what Dori and his tea were for. 

He made his love a cup of chamomile and smiled as he sat down across from him. 

“And how had your day been?” Dori asked with dry sarcasm, cocking an eyebrow with a smirk. Balin gave him an exasperated, though rather flat look. The advisor sighed and sipped his tea. 

“Slow,” he decided and glanced back up to Dori, “But suddenly better. Though I think it might rain later.”

“Well, we’ll just have to stay inside then.”

The pair smiled contentedly at each other. Their love may not have been as active or exciting or as loud as Bofur and Nori’s, but it was just as strong. 

So when a smirking dwarf with an ostentatiously-oversized beard slammed his hand down on the table and leaned over to stare Dori in the eyes while breaking contact with Balin, the tea-maker lost it. 

And when the guardsmen from down the street finally did arrive, only to find the offending dwarf crumpled on the floor with a busted lip, bleeding nose, and broken wrist, not to mention the likely internal damage yet unseen, Balin was there to calmly explain exactly what happened, and who was going to argue with him?

They hauled the perpetrator away, Dori closed up shop, and the two settled down for a peaceful afternoon of catching up. 

And suddenly, Dori was very relieved to be back in Ered Luin. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Nori was ecstatic about being back in Ered Luin.

Finally he had some folks he could cheat and steal from without a hint of remorse. 

He had held himself back from robbing the hobbits blind; they were an innocent people with no gems or gold to speak of. A few fancy bits of jewelry here and there but nothing that drove Nori to risk (except for Lady Bilba’s silverware of course, Nori would risk his life for that woman). He had traveled to Bree several times, playing poker and gambling with the Men there, never winning enough to arouse suspicion but always taking more home than he brought. 

But here? Nori knew where the richer, more powerful dwarves liked to play cards with wonderfully high amounts of money. 

So the thief put on his best garments (that also happened to have the most pockets) made his way to Ered Luin’s center of greed, and let loose. 

His pockets were full before dinner. 

Heading back to the poorer end of town, Nori made sure to drop plenty of coins into the pockets or bags of anyone who looked worse for wear. He had been there at one point, and as dishonest as Nori was, there were few who would say he wasn’t a good man. 

In poverty, there was desperation, and Nori hated feeling desperate. If he felt desperate during a crime he usually felt guilty after. 

But there was no guilt in this. 

Eventually he wandered home (to find Ori with blood on her hands giggling like a giddy girl, what in Mahal’s name was that about?) and decided to relax for a bit. No need to exert himself on his first day back. The bail jar Dori kept in the kitchen was running rather dry, so Nori happily filled it to the brim for the sake of his brother. Mentally debating the possibility that they may be raising a serial killer, he headed out to get a drink, feeling like getting into a fight, just for fun. 

Nori was ecstatic about being back in Ered Luin. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Dwalin was enraged, pissed off, and entirely disgusted about being back in Ered Luin. 

The city was a cesspool of greed and ruthlessness. 

It was a place where the callous got rich and the good kept their mouths shut to not risk losing what little they had. 

Currently, it was late in the evening of the group’s first day back in Ered Luin, and Dwalin was sitting in one of the darkest taverns in the Blue Mountains. It wasn’t enough that the bastards who now ran the city had murdered his fiancé and still had the audacity to look him in the eye. One of their pawns had been ordered to ask him to take over as head of the Guard. And Dwalin hated it, because they knew he couldn’t say no, they knew he wouldn’t trust anyone to do the job as well as he and risk someone else losing their loved ones because the city guards were as good as mice against foxes. They knew he would take the job, and then be subject to their orders, their will, and most awful of all, the patronizing. 

And he wouldn’t be able to say a damn word against them. 

They knew that he knew what they had done, and they were more than happy to hold it over him. 

It just wasn’t enough that he had lost the love of his life. 

That he had lost Dis. 

Oh, Dis. 

Their courtship had been one of the shortest in dwarven history before he proposed, but no one dared say a word against him about it. He had dreamed all his life about being with Dis, long before she had been courted by her first husband. 

She had been young and beautiful, a strong-willed lass that scared plenty of suitors away on her own. Dwalin, Thorin, and Frerin constantly played together and often told her she couldn’t play with them, because she was too young or a girl or untrained or whatever they could make up that day. But she got them good. Created a frighteningly elaborate prank, which of course the boys were blamed for because they often played pranks and the sweet and innocent and precious princess Dis would never ever do such a thing, why would you say that, Dwalin?

After that, she was never left out.

Dwalin had a crush on her before they were even teens, the little lady with a temper to match a hardened warrior. Dis never took anyone’s bull, and defended her friends fiercely. And when Thrain said she couldn’t leave the mountain because it wasn’t safe for a young lady, Dwalin made sure to bring her flowers from Dale when Fundin took him and Balin to Dale.

Dis only grew tougher when Erebor fell and they trekked across Middle Earth to Ered Luin. She had been in the original party that had met with the leaders of the small colony of dwarves already living in the Blue Mountains. Dwalin had been near the end of the miles-long caravan, protecting the rear from attack.

That is when she met _him._

_Him,_ with his blond locks and easy laugh and unscarred body. A son of woodworkers, with no training for battle or metal-working. A friendly lad who had a gentle heart, a kind sense of humor, and words to spare. 

The exact opposite of Dwalin. 

The young warrior wanted to beat the kid to a pulp, but he made Dis so jubilant, so relaxed in hard times, Dwalin didn’t dare. Dis hadn’t had a moment of peace in so long, Dwalin just wanted her to be happy, and the other man made her so. 

Maybe it was because he wasn’t some uppercrust jerk. Maybe it was due to his western accent’s drawl. And, if Dwalin was being honest with himself, maybe it was the fact that he was just so different from all she had ever known, not a warrior or a miner or a forger or a political figure or anything she would have met in Erebor. Maybe she loved him because he didn’t remind her of what she had lost, but what she could gain. 

Now of course when he officially asked the Durins’ permission to court her (which was after Azanulbizar, so it was really just Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin) he made sure that the boy knew that if he ever hurt Dis, in any form or fashion, he would make Goblin tortures look merciful. But the lad only nodded, and pledged his loyalty and love to the woman Dwalin had dreamed of for decades. 

And when they told Dis they approved, she had smiled so bright she could have lit the whole city, only faultering when her eyes met Dwalin’s. Her eyes flickered not in anger or sadness, but in confusion. 

_You really approve?_

_You have nothing else to say?_

But he never said a word. 

And on her wedding day, Princess Dis, for once in her painful, rocky life, looked completely and utterly overjoyed, excited, and hopeful. 

And so very, very beautiful. 

Dwalin was sure his heart had stopped for a moment when she walked down the aisle in her deep blue gown, a silver tiara shining in the sun. A bright light in the dark years that had smothered them. 

When she became pregnant, Dwalin made sure she never had to ask for help. 

When Fíli was born, Dwalin made sure he never went hungry. 

When Dis became pregnant again, Dwalin congratulated her husband. Few dwarves were so lucky. 

And when he died, Dwalin held Dis through all of her tears, and never asked for anything in return. 

After moving to the Blue Mountains, the Erebor-born dwarves had quickly set up mines, boring into the untouched land, praying to find something. They did discover some basic metals in the tunnels, but nothing near the value of Erebor’s. The problem was that they had lost all their mining tools and resources in Smaug’s attack, not to mention the majority of Erebor’s miners and tunnel-minded thinkers. The dwarves were innately talented with the way of the earth, but their greatest strengths lied with the knowledge passed through the ages, from generation to generation, all suddenly lost in one day. 

Not to mention the money. In Erebor, setting up a new mine was simple. Thror could throw all the money he wanted into construction, guaranteed he would get it back and much, much more. In the Blue Mountains, funds were barely existant, so setting a mine was slow-going, and equipment was touchy at best. Dwarves were the greatest miners in the world, but that was with the tools and knowledge that they were taught over years. Many of the tunnel-diggers in the Blue Mountains had never touched a pickaxe, some were far too old or much too young, and others were simply not cut out for it. 

So mining accidents, which hadn’t happened for centuries in Erebor, were a tragically common occurrence in the Blue Mountains. 

Dis’s husband, who had wanted to prove himself to her people so badly, had signed up to be a miner. 

And he was crushed beneath the stone. 

Dis lost the love of her life. 

And after years of helping raise her sons, after gaining Thorin’s permission to ask to court her and she actually agreeing, after just a few years of happiness, Dwalin lost his. 

One of the most scarred, battle-hardened, and fearsome dwarves in the land weeped, for the first time since he lost his father. 

Now here he was, a part of him wanting to drown himself in ale, another wanting to get so drunk he couldn’t remember anything, the last dreaming of nothing more than beating to death one of the biggest dwarves in Ered Luin. One of those who had led the mob. One of those who was known to be a patron of this very tavern. 

That’s when Nori strolled in. 

The thief was grinning like he had won the lottery, like he was having one of the best days of his life, and he spotted Dwalin at a table down the line. Nori strode up to him beaming with pride until he saw Dwalin’s scowl. 

Nori and Dwalin were opposites in every sense. 

Nori was a thief, Dwalin was a guard. 

Nori was sarcastic, sneaky, and subtle. Dwalin was deadpan, direct, and dominating. 

Nori and Dwalin understood each other better than most married couples. 

“Up for a bar fight?” Nori asked quietly, with none of his usual humor. Dwalin nodded darkly and downed the rest of his ale. 

Dwalin was enraged, pissed off, and entirely disgusted with being back in Ered Luin. 

He _hated_ Ered Luin.


	19. We Lost What Was Never Ours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this one is going to hurt.  
> I mean I wrote painful stuff before but this one...I do actually feel bad about it.  
> So grab your chocolates and tissues.  
> And please don't kill me.

Time passed. Spring turned to summer with all the hobbit festivities to go along with it, and Bilba and the Durins found themselves with four months of peace and love. No crazy relatives or violent enemies, just family and friends. For four whole months Thorin thought he was a very lucky dwarf. 

And today was Mid-Summer’s Eve! And that meant one thing. 

Gandalf. 

Bilba had already sent a raven off to ask the wizard to come and share his wonderous fireworks with the Shire again, and he had agreed readily. Fíli and Kíli were positively bursting with excitement, it having been months since they had seen the grey wanderer and his incredible tricks. 

So Bilba agreed to take Fíli and Kíli out to the fields to wait for Gandalf’s arrival. Unfortunately, Gandalf appeared to be running a little late (bloody wizard would never admit it) and the boys were getting bored. 

“Bilba, would you tell us a story?” Fíli asked. Kíli looked up and nodded pleadingly at her, and Bilba found herself powerless to resist. 

“Alright, alright. A story then. One about dwarves or hobbits?” 

“Both!” they squeaked in unison. 

“Both?” Bilba gasped accordingly to keep the kids entertained. “There aren’t many stories about both. But I think I know one…” Bilba grinned at the boys. “Our tale begins long ago, in the Anduin Valley outside Greenwood, where some of the first hobbits were resting. One of them was pregnant, and the others would not risk the child’s nor the mother’s life. They built a camp, and soon enough that camp became a small village, all awaiting the baby. But the pregnancy ran long,” Bilba said, her voice turning dark and suspenseful. “The mother did not give birth for a month past what she expected, and the people believed that the baby was lost.” 

Fíli and Kíli frowned in worry, their big eyes watching her, looking for some sign. 

“But then one day she was suddenly struck with pain! The mother was rushed to the doctor’s office and there she gave birth to a beautiful daughter. She had hair that shined like gold and warm auburn eyes. Her name was Lily, and they called her Lily of the Valley. The hobbits around her were always happy to see her. As the years passed the hobbits decided to stay where they were, and the little girl grew up. She had a gentle, loving heart, never judging others or saying unkind things. But when she came of age at thirty-three, something changed.”

The boys’ eyes widened in expectation and Bilba grinned before shoving the smile back down to appropriately tell the story. 

“On the night of her thirty-third birthday, Lily changed—morphed—into a creature that horrified the hobbits. She grew bigger and bulky like a tiny troll, her feet shrank and lost their hair, and yet she grew hair everywhere else! Even a beard, which hobbit men could barely grow. The Lily of the Valley they knew was no longer the small and delicate flower they had known. She looked like a monster.”

Fíli and Kíli gasped in horror.

“Wha’ happened?!” Kíli asked frantically. Bilba turned to him slowly and answered in a low voice. 

“They locked her away.”

Bilba pulled the boys closer under the tree where they were resting and continued her tale. Who said Bofur was the best story-teller?

“The hobbits built a smial of metal and brick to try and hide her away, thinking that a beast as horrid as she might attack them. They locked Lily in, her only way to survive left to getting food delivered by basket from her window, high atop her castle. The hobbits begged the skin-changers of the Valley to watch over her, to make sure she would never escape, and hurried away, eager to leave behind the saddened memories of the Valley and its Lily. Most skin-changers stuck their noses up at the hobbits’ request, but one said he would keep an eye on her. He was half-man, half-badger, and knew that Lily was the one who needed protecting, not the other hobbits. He had always watched out for the halflings, and knew of Lily’s condition. The skin-changer vowed that if any should try to come and ‘hunt’ this terrible monster that the innocent hobbits spoke of, they would have to go through him first.”

Bilba glanced down, making sure the boys were still interested, which they were, and smiled inwardly. Now it was getting good. 

“Time passed. Lily and the skin-changer became good friends, and though she never stopped morphing, her changes only came at night. And for years, this was how they lived. She was too scared that someone might attack her, should they see her other form, and no amount of goading or begging from her friend could convince her differently. But one day, an unexpected party traveled through the Valley. They were short, but burly and strong, carrying weapon and leathers and furs that the skin-changer didn’t like one bit. They were dwarves.”

Fíli and Kíli cheered in delight. They loved hearing tales of heroic dwarves that they might one day grow to be, and this was a story they had never heard before. 

“The dwarves were led by their prince, Angrec, and he was their greatest fighter and the fiercest of them all. He was tall for a dwarf, with large, thick muscles and dark tattoos, and long, straight black hair. His beard was magnificent, braided and woven with beads of his family and status. Now, to dwarves, he was quite handsome, but to hobbits? Lily saw him from her window, just barely getting a glimpse of the prince before diving away to hide from view. But she saw him, and he was frightening. Angrec looked like other warriors who had come to kill the terrible beast of the Valley, and Lily hid in her tower for her own safety.”

The lads’ brows furrowed with worry. This was supposed to be a happy story!

“But Angrec and his soldiers had not heard any of these tales. They were simply passing through on their way to Moria, only to spy a dark castle in the middle of a sunny field. And he was sure he had seen a flash of gold when he had glanced at the spire. Angrec was not a greed-ridden dwarf like some might believe, but there was something odd about that tower, and he wanted to know what. So he entered it with clever dwarvish tools and began to search. But the skin-changer would not let anyone dangerous near his friend, and he turned into his large badger form, and the two fought. Lily could hear the violence from her room, and when she heard her friend scream she could stand it no longer. She dashed out, into the wide stairway, putting herself between the dwarf and skin-changer.”

Fíli and Kíli clung to her in excitement, the suspense eating away at them. 

“By this point in their battle, Angrec was furious at the badger for attacking him, but seeing such a tiny and innocent woman risk her life for the skin-changer took him off guard. Her golden hair was beautiful, even if the rest of her looked rather odd to the dwarf. But he lowered his sword and bowed to the lady. She stared at him, stunned that he had not attempted to kill her, and the two tentatively began to talk. Angrec asked why she was living with a beast in a tower, and she explained that she was left here, alone and abandoned by her people. The prince could not believe anyone would do such a cruel thing, so he asked her to join them on their journey. Lily was hesitant of course, but after talking to a new person for the first time in years, she found she hated the idea of staying in her prison castle. She would rather die by his hand than rot in her cell. So after a teary goodbye, Lily left the Valley, and joined the dwarves on their trip to Moria.”

“Yay!” Kíli exclaimed.

“But wait,” Fíli cut in, “What happened next? Did they find out?” 

“Their journey was short but hazardous, the tiny hobbit unused to such terrain,” Bilba continued, “But Angrec would not leave her behind like her people did, and the two became close. He was her first new friend in decades and she was so unusual to him he found himself curious every moment. Lily was sweet and thoughtful and while she did not treat him like a prince, she did treat him like a friend, an act entirely new to him, and quite refreshing. But every night when the sun began to set, she would hide herself away in her tent, and refused anyone who asked to see her. The warriors assumed she was frightened by them; a delicate woman surrounded by strong male soldiers was bound to be. But it saddened Angrec to think that she did not trust them. When they reached Moria, the prince gave Lily her own room near his in the palace, so that if she ever needed him, she could find him. The other dwarves were confused by the newcomer, as she told little of her past or people, and often kept to herself. But there was always one who could draw her out of her mind. Angrec.” 

Bilba smiled as the boys leaned in closer, biting their lips in anticipation. 

“The prince wanted to know more about the lady, and she him as well. They began spending more and more time together, though Lily kept her secret well. She would always meet him at breakfast or lunch, never dinner, and kept an eye on the time. No one ever knew.”

Kíli sighed in relief. Fíli looked disappointed.

“Until one evening.”

Kíli gasped in horror as Fíli punched the air in success.

“Angrec asked Lily to dinner one night, so sincerely kind she could not bear to refuse him. The two had grown closer than friends over the months of her stay, and Angrec wanted to prove he was worthy of courting her. So after a delicious feast he took her outside, to the base of the mountains, and showed her a garden. It was wondrous, a huge field of flowers just for her, a courting gift to show his dedication. Lily was overwhelmed by the incredible sight and dragged Angrec through the plain to see everything. When Angrec posed the question she agreed immediately, no doubts in her mind that she would happily court with him. For the first time in years, Lily of the Valley felt true joy. At least until Angrec mentioned that it was getting late and the guards would wonder where they were. Lily spun just to see the sun dip below the horizon, and began to change.” 

The boys were holding their breaths, and Bilba was tempted to see how long they would do so, but felt maternal mercy kick in to place and continued. 

“Angrec watched in shock and awe as she morphed, her small dress tearing as her muscles and bones grew. When it was over, she looked at him in fear, searching for his reaction or his blade, and found nothing but surprise. He asked what this change was, and knowing her secret was out, Lily did not bother to run. She explained her curse, why her people had left her, and why she hid at night. Lily expected an attack, violent or verbal, but none came. When she opened her eyes hesitantly, Angrec was taking her hand and smiling. He did not see a monster. He saw the woman he wished to court, no longer a hobbit, but a dwarf. Neither knew how or why Lily was this way, but when they kissed, neither cared. He gave her his cloak to cover the tears in her dress and they made their way back to the palace, each comfortable in the other’s presence. Lily had found someone who loved her no matter her body, and Angrec had found someone who cared for him as more than just a prince. And when Lily woke the next morning, once again a hobbit, she did not feel fear. For it did not matter. Angrec loved her for who she was, not what, and she now knew she was not a monster. Years later, when the two married, Moria found itself with a just king and a strong but gentle queen. And they lived happily, until the end of their days.”

Bilba looked down at the boys to check their reactions, and while Fíli seemed quite pleased with the ending, Kíli now appeared very upset. 

“Kíli, what’s wrong?” Bilba asked in concern. Kíli huffed and threw up his arms. 

“The story nee’s more fights,” he answered in frustration. 

“More fights?” Bilba cocked an eyebrow with an amused smile, “You want more violence?” 

“No. Jus’ more exci—excit—cool stuff. Love stowies are boring.” 

Fíli rolled his eyes as Bilba shook her head with a chuckle. 

“Okay Kíli, next time I’ll add more action, just for you.” Kíli beamed in response, and Bilba decided she would actually have to. “Now come on, boys. Let’s see if we can’t catch Gandalf down the road,” Bilba said as she stood up and stretched. They’d been waiting for the wizard for long enough. It would be faster if they walked to meet him somewhere up the path. Kíli immediately raised his arms in desire to be carried, and Bilba picked him up with a pleasant sigh, sitting him against her hip. Fíli repeated his brother’s actions, but Bilba frowned. “I’m sorry, Fíli, I can’t carry both of you.” His shoulders slumped and Fíli sent a glare to his brother who promptly stuck his tongue out. “Kíli!” Bilba scolded. 

She set him on the ground and Kíli whimpered and reached his hands up again. Bilba put her hands on her hips for a moment before shaking her head. 

“Oh no. You are walking. If you’ve got the energy to tease, you can certainly walk.”

She turned on her heel, and started down the lane, Fíli and Kíli right at her heels. 

“I’m sorry…” she heard Kíli whisper behind her and she turned to gaze down at him as they strode. 

“I know, Kíli, but it’s wrong to be mean and we all have to learn that. And hopefully your brother will accept your apology, my little field mouse.”

“I accept your apology, Kíli,” Fíli said as Kíli exclaimed, “I’m not a field mouse!” 

“You’re my field mouse,” Bilba giggled. Kíli glared. 

“Then what’s Fíli?”

“He’s my fluffy bumble bee.” 

This time it was Fíli who went red. But just before either of the boys began to get into a state, a thought occurred to the elder prince. 

“Bilba, what happened to Angrec and Lily, after they married?” 

“I told you. They lived happily ever after.”

“But what else?” Fíli insisted, “Did he ever get angry because she kept the secret from him? Did he ever have to go to war? Did they ever have kids?”

Bilba sighed in loving exasperation. 

“I honestly don’t know, Fíli, perhaps any of those things happened. When you tell the story to others you can decide. Maybe Angrec was angry, maybe they fought side by side, and maybe they even had little dwarf-hobbit babies. It’s all up to your imagination.”

“Dwarf-hobbits…” Fíli murmured to himself, pondering the idea. “Like with small _and_ hairy feet?”

“Or thick honeyed hair?” Kíli added.

“Or a curly beard!”

Bilba just rolled her eyes as the boys rambled. Who could stop them?

“I want to see a dwarf-hobbit!”

“A dwobbit!” Kíli shouted. 

“Bilba?” Fíli pulled at her skirt lightly until she looked down. “Where do babies come from?” 

And that was most certainly not a question Bilba was prepared to answer that morning.

But luckily she was saved by the familiar sounds of an old man humming rang through the air. 

“Gandalf!” both boys shouted, and dashed ahead of their hobbit to see the wizard. He greeted them with a call and a laugh (and maybe a few small pieces of candy but hush-hush, you didn’t see anything). Gandalf was in his standard (and probably only) clothing, serenely smoking a pipe and singing to himself. 

“You’re late,” Bilba declared as his cart approached, her arms folded resolutely with a face of faked frustration that had a smile leaking through. 

“A wizard is never late, Bilba Baggins,” he replied, sounding quite cold, “Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

The two adults held level gazes for a moment, each appearing hard and stubborn, and the boys glanced between the two worriedly. 

And then the hobbit and wizard burst into laughter. 

“It’s wonderful to see you, Gandalf!” Bilba exclaimed, and jumped into his cart with a loving hug. 

“You didn’t think I’d miss out on a chance to show my new fireworks,” Gandalf said happily, “And how are these two rascals?” 

The wizard glanced back at the two dwarf boys jumping up and down in his cart as they moved forward. Kíli was staring in fascination at the wizard’s hat (which made Gandalf slightly nervous) while Fíli was trying to sneak a peak at the fireworks that laid under the tarp beneath their feet, until Gandalf whistled at him to stop. 

“You know dwarves better than I, Gandalf, even by this time. Though by now the Shire is in a much bigger hustle about the festival than my dwarves.”

“And how has life in the Shire been, my dear Bilba?” he asked thoughtfully. 

“Life in the Shire goes on, Gandalf, very much as it has this past age. Change comes slowly, if it comes at all,” Bilba answered dryly, but hearing Fíli gasp at the sight of some unseen treasure, Bilba rethought her words. “At least, usually.” Gandalf chuckled at her, and Bilba smiled back. “You know, before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf replied with false neutrality. 

“Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected,” Bilba said, cocking her head towards the children behind them. 

“If you’re referring to the incident with the kidnapping, I was barely involved. All I did was give your mother a little nudge out of the door. And perhaps told her when Bungo would be away from all of his friends and family. And where she could buy good rope,” he chuckled, sounding far too proud to feel guilty. 

“Whatever you did, you’ve been officiall labeled a Disturber of the Peace.” 

Gandalf hummed at this, and as much as he wished to snort at the hobbits’ little name for him (no matter how much more entertaining it was than Mithrandir or Tharkun), he couldn’t find the heart to do so when all the little hobbit children started running towards his cart, calling his name. Fíli and Kíli waved to their friends, but Gandalf passed by silently, almost like he was ignoring the kids.

But just as the children began to whimper, his fireworks began to set off magically, whizzing and popping and bursting! The kids cheered, and even Bilba had to smile at his antics. A few of the older hobbits shook their heads irritably, but the four just continued on. 

They made it to Bag End without any trouble, and as the boys ran off to play with the hobbit children, the adults were finally able to relax. 

“Would you like some tea, Gandalf?” 

“No, a bit of red wine for me if you please.” 

They chatted idly, about the hobbits and dwarves and places of the world. Gandalf hit his head on the chandelier three times and Bilba was sure it was a new record. 

“Are you ready for tonight?” Bilba asked. Gandalf crossed his arms in fake resentment. 

“Ready? Bilba my dear girl, I sailed from the west ready.”

The two grinned. 

Gandalf’s fireworks were always a hit. 

And apparently, he had some new tricks to show off.

\----------------------------------------------------

The celebration was an utter success, as all hobbit parties were. There was eating and drinking and dancing and all forms of merry-making. Food was served by the pound and the music never stopped. Fíli and Kíli played with their friends the whole evening, when they weren’t stuffing their faces with every dessert in sight. Gandalf naturally towered over everyone, though that didn’t stop him from joining in on a jig. 

And Bilba even managed to get Thorin to dance with her. 

While she was dressed in fine clothes, beautiful while unrestraining and thus perfect for a hobbit festival, his clothes were rather plain. A simple dark blue tunic and trousers, with his hair down and feet bootless. They smiled easy and laughed often, and those who had been wary of the idea of a hobbit and dwarf couple now saw that there was no difference between them and every other pair in the Shire. 

And didn’t Bilba and Thorin know it. 

They had found in the past months that they complimented each other quite nicely. Thorin could tell her of the world outside the Shire, and Bilba shared with him the secrets of hobbits. When Fíli and Kíli felt alone as dwarves in a hobbit village, Thorin was there to remind them of the proud history of their people. When the boys cried and raged about the horrid things the dwarves had done to their family, Bilba told them old hobbit tales. Where Bilba had a quick mind, Thorin had a strong body. When Bilba could warm him up, he could cool her down. And when the nightmares and painful memories tore at Thorin’s mind, Bilba was there to soothe his soul, as Thorin was there to comfort her when the scars that covered her body threatened to rip out her heart. 

The hobbits who knew them best agreed that they were a perfect match. Primula was sure it was only a matter of time. No one could deny the way they looked at each other (especially when the other wasn’t looking). 

And that night, the first Mid-Summer’s Eve festival the dwarves had ever seen, Bilba and Thorin did not even notice Gandalf’s fireworks. They were too caught up in their own. 

\----------------------------------------------------

“Any news?” he asked Gandalf quietly. Bilba was inside Bag End, putting the boys to bed after a long night of partying. Thorin and Gandalf were sitting on a bench in her backyard, smoking and talking. It had been small chatter at first, but they both knew they needed to get down to business. 

“Little has changed in Ered Luin since we last spoke,” Gandalf answered. “Though I was about to ask you the same question. You have been living in the Shire for almost a year now. Is there anything I should know?” The wizard had an eyebrow raised and a face somewhere between suspicious and knowing. 

“Well, you will be stealing my bed for the time you are here,” Thorin said, the corners of his lips quirking up for a moment. 

“My sincerest apologies,” Gandalf said insincerely, a grin pulling at his lips, “So where will you be sleeping for the time being?” He took a sip of wine to hide his smile, eager to see the face of a dwarf king forced to admit to sleeping on the couch. 

“With Bilba.” 

Gandalf the Gray, called Mithrandir, Tharkun, the Gray Pilgrim, and the Wandering Wizard, powerful member of the Maiar, blew wine out his mouth. 

“What?!” 

This time it was Thorin who was resisting a smile. 

“She and I have been courting for nearly a year, Gandalf, and Bilba offered to let me sleep in her bed while you took mine. I accepted.”

Gandalf was thoroughly shocked. 

“You and Ms. Baggins are courting?” he asked, eyes wider than dinner plates. 

Thorin nodded proudly. 

“And to what end do you intend to follow this?” Gandalf questioned, his voice getting lower and serious. 

Thorin glanced towards the back door which he knew lead to where Bilba was safe with his nephews. He grew a small, warm smile. 

“I intend to marry her.” 

Gandalf’s eyes widened once again, and looked entirely flabbergasted. 

“I want to give it a few more months before I ask to make sure she is as serious as I, but I believe she would already say yes,” Thorin glanced up at the overwhelmed wizard, knowing he was as close to a parent as Bilba would have, “I am going to propose at the end of the fall, so that if she agrees we can spend the winter planning and have the wedding in the spring. The hobbits have a fondness of that season I believe.” Gandalf nodded absently. 

Bilba. 

And Thorin. 

Bilba _and_ Thorin. 

_Together._

Oh no. 

“But Thorin!” Gandalf said, suddenly angry. Thorin’s eyes snapped to his, equally stern at the sound of Gandalf negativity towards his impending happiness. “She is a hobbit maiden and you are a dwarf king! Think of what that means. The cultural disagreements, the insults from both sides, the attempts on your lives! You would not be able to have children!” 

“We have faced opposition and violence before, wizard, no thanks to you,” Thorin growled coldly. “And I doubt any action taken against her or I would be much different were we married. Should another attack come, we are ready to fight it. If it is political scandal you are so worried about then I can assure you, Bilba and I have already discussed such matters. If I was to someday reclaim Erebor and she and I were to have a child, it would only be in line to inherit the throne after Fíli and Kíli. I named them my heirs when they were born and I will not go back on my word now or ever. If Bilba and I ever have a child, it will be loved and treated just as if it was fully hobbit or dwarf, no matter who says otherwise.” 

The dwarf king glared up at the wizard, proud of his words. No one would insult his family or say he and Bilba could not be together. She had been hurt in his absence enough, she would not be again. 

Gandalf’s shoulders sagged, the fight appearing to leave him, and the wizard looked more tired, older, and sadder than he should have. 

“You mistake my meaning, Thorin,” Gandalf said softly and solemnly, raising a hand in peace. “I am happy that you and Bilba have found love in each other, I truly am. But I did not mean that you two should not have children. I mean that you two, physically, _cannot_ have children.”

Silence. 

Silence reigned over all, despite the crickets and the wind and the closing of the festival. 

For a moment, Thorin’s mind could not think. 

He didn’t breathe, his heart barely beat, and he simply stared. 

“Explain,” Thorin ordered hoarsely, still unbelieving. 

“Thorin, in all your years as prince and king did you ever hear of a child born of a dwarf and any other race? Any half-dwarf children? Or in your time among the hobbits, have you seen any of them that were half-hobbit?” Gandalf sighed as Thorin slowly shook his head. “That’s because there aren’t any. Neither dwarves nor hobbits are able to have children with anyone outside their own race.”

The dwarf swallowed hard and felt the pit in his stomach grow. How could this happen? Why? Why were the cursed this way?! His hands clenched into fists as anger rose in his chest. He wanted to roar at the gods, at his own maker. Why?!

“Thorin, is everything alright?” 

Bilba’s soft, caring voice carried from the doorway, a small candle stick in her hand with the boys by her side. They were clutching her nightgown protectively, already in their little sleeping tunics. Thorin glanced at her, and then back to Gandalf. 

“Bilba, my dear,” Gandalf said easily, “Would you mind putting the lads to bed so we can talk?” Bilba nodded automatically, but her eyes flashed with concern when her eyes moved over Thorin, who remained stock-still. 

\----------------------------------------------

“How is that possible?”

The first words out of Bilba’s mouth summarized everything Thorin was thinking. They wanted facts, proof, and the wizard was going to give them. Gandalf took a deep breath and met their eyes, beginning his tale. 

“As you may know, before there were the races of Middle-Earth we know today, before the elves and Men and dwarves awoke, the Vala Mahal made seven dwarves to teach his craft. But he had done this without the approval of Ilúvatar. When Eru discovered them, Mahal was forced to relinquish his children. But instead of destroying the dwarves, Ilúvatar gave them life, under the condition they would not awake before the elves. Here is where the problem arises. Dwarves, being created by Mahal, are not children of Ilúvatar and therefore, unlike the elves and Men, can not breed with any race other than their own.” 

Bilba and Thorin watched him in silence, shocked and chilled to the bone. This couldn’t be true…it just couldn’t. 

“The hobbits share a similar problem,” Gandalf continued sorrowfully, “They were made by Yavanna, in her hopes to create children as pure as her plants and fruits. A people who were simple and good-natured and kind, who could not be corrupted by the darkness of the world, who would not hurt nature but support it, and when Eru gave them life as he did the dwarves, the hobbits were not able to have children with any other race. Elves and Men were born of the same being’s ideas, so their bodies are similar enough to be…compatible. But dwarves and hobbits were both created by different minds, with different bodies, and are thus unable to…mix with others.” Gandalf closed his mouth, uncomfortable for once in his life. 

The three sat in silence. For Bilba, time seemed to slow. Thorin shut his eyes, holding his own anger back. Gandalf could only watch as the truth sunk in. 

“I am terribly sorry,” he said honestly. “It had never occurred to me that you two might grow so close.”

Bilba’s shoulders slumped in resignation but Thorin saw the pain in her eyes. He could live his life without a child, he had Fíli and Kíli and they were as good as his own. But Bilba? If they stayed together…

Thorin remembered what she had told him of hobbit lives. They grew up, got married, had lots of little hobbit babies. Bilba was already odd for not having a husband. Even if they married…what would the others think if they never had children?

“Bilba,” he said quietly, “If you do not wish to continue our courtship because of this…I understand.”

He could not give her a child. But he could give her a way out. 

“What?!” Bilba gasped, her head snapping to his. “Thorin, I would never!” She squeezed his hand in her own. “I love you, and nothing could tear me away.”

And though Gandalf had to smile at the sight of such strong love, his heart ached because of it. 

“But do you not wish to have children? To be a mother?” Thorin closed his eyes. “With me, it would be impossible.”

“But it wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Bilba reassured despite her clenching heart, and Thorin gazed into her warm eyes. “I would have liked being a mother, and it is depressing that we might never have children of our own, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love you, Thorin. And we have Fíli and Kíli. As unfortunate as this is, at least now we know. Imagine if Gandalf did not know about this; we could have spent our whole lives wondering what was wrong with us! Thorin, of course I would have liked to have children and be a mother and all the things that came with being such, but I can accept it. I was more worried that you would not wish to carry on like this,” she admitted, holding her tears back so they could not see them. She forced her voice to not crack and her hands to not shake. Thorin was suffering his own pain; he did not need to witness hers as well.

But he smiled through his pain at the wonderful woman before him. Bilba Baggins. Thorin could carry any burden for her. 

“I cannot imagine us apart,” Thorin said, and he could roll his eyes at his own sappiness later. She smiled at him in relief, and Thorin pulled her close. 

They might not have children, but they were still a family. 

At least that’s what Bilba kept telling herself. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Bilba Baggins was many things. She was a child-finder, a cousin-cutter, a stubborn flower. She, that saved dwarves from certain death only to kill them and bring them back from beyond. She, who came from adventure, but went on none. She, the friend of wizards and host of dwarves. She was the Braidwearer and Wordfighter; and she was Queen Under the Hill. 

And she was a very good liar.

But she was not, and never would be, a mother. 

Her mind, practical and logical, told her it didn’t matter. It was not so rare as to be thought unwell of for women to never have children in the Shire. They were never spoken poorly of… _just pitied._

No. It’s fine. She could explain the problem to the others. 

And she and Thorin could overcome this! They had each other. They had love. There were perks to not bearing the risk of becoming pregnant on romantic nights. Their match was one made in Valinor, and they had already made a life together… _they just couldn’t make life._

But that was fine! They had Fíli and Kíli. The brothers didn’t have parents, Bilba and Thorin couldn't have children. The four could take care of each other. They were closer than most blood families. Nothing could tear them apart. 

_But they weren’t hobbits. They would never be hobbits. And they would never be her children. She would never carry a child and have the glow of Yavanna about her. No one would ever look up with tiny eyes and call Bilba ‘mama’. Fíli and Kíli would always be Thorin’s nephews, always be princes, **always** be **dwarves.**_

Somewhere in Bilba’s shattered heart she felt guilty towards Thorin, unable to give him a child to call his own. A son or daughter to raise and praise. Because of their creation, they would never be able to create. 

There would be no small but hairy feet, nor thick honeyed locks, not even a curly beard. No prince or princess for Erebor, no cousin for Fíli or Kíli, no dwobbit for Bilba or Thorin. 

Bilba Baggins would never be a mother. 

When she had finished talking with Gandalf and Thorin, she left them in peace to speak of dwarvish matters. Bilba turned away, went by herself to her room, and sat alone wrapped in a blanket. She wept until her eyes were red and her voice hoarse. And it would be long before she had the heart to make a joke again.


	20. The Blue Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait y'all, but it's the moment you've been waiting for!
> 
> The Wedding!
> 
> I should mention I made up most (if not all) of these 'traditions' up. They are in no way canon (to my knowledge). 
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> Dwarves!  
> Fighting!   
> Feels!  
> Wedding Night!

“So, Master Oakenshield, what are your intentions towards our granddaughter?” 

“Other than marriage, of course.”

Adamanta Took and Laura Baggins were a frightening pair. Powerful, cunning, and scarily in tune with each other despite their differences, Thorin had to meet with both of them to get their blessings for his and Bilba’s wedding. Their approval wasn’t exactly necessary for them to be married, but it was still important to the hobbits, especially Bilba. 

But it was so complicated. 

Thorin had dealt with bureaucracy-loving nobles before, but these hobbits had traditions within traditions! A simple people—his ass. They might have claimed to not have such old rules, but that’s only because they didn’t see them as such. These things weren’t done to preserve ancient customs, they were simply done. That’s how they worked. 

Which is why Thorin was forced to cook an entire meal (a hobbit meal, which included five entrees, seven sides, and three desserts) all by himself. Bilba had shown him the recipe book and taught him how to make each dish, but for the real lunch, the dwarf king had to do everything by himself. 

Most of it at least smelled good. He had eaten very little, too preoccupied with seeing how the elderly women were judging his food. Their faces, however, were completely blank from years of practice. 

If Thorin thought too hard about it, he knew he’d feel insulted. He was a king! He had faced orcs and Wargs and goblins, what were two hobbit women to fear? 

And yet his heart continued to beat at a nervously quick pace. 

“I only wish to make her happy,” he answered with solemn sincerity. 

“Oh, never heard that before,” Adamanta said dryly. 

“Anything else?” Laura asked, somehow talking down to him despite the fact he was a head taller than her. Thorin took a deep breath. Bilba had warned him of this; that they would try to mess with his mind in hopes of breaking him down. 

His love had to have learned her manipulative skills somewhere. 

“I want her to be happy, safe and cared for. I want to stand by Bilba’s side in the worst and best of times. She is a clever woman and has a strong heart—and I would cherish her each and every day.” 

The matriarchs judged him silently, unmoving as he spoke. When he finished, Adamanta raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Laura before they turned back to him. 

“Okay, Master Oakenshield,” Laura began, and Thorin knew it was no use trying to correct her use of his epithet as a name. All the hobbits have surnames, unlike the dwarves, and bringing up how he got his title didn’t sound like it would win him any points with the peaceful people. “Favorite flower?”

Another part of the test: the speed round. 

“Angrec,” Thorin answered confidently. He and Bilba had practiced this as well. It was about surety and precision. Even if he made a mistake, he had to play it off. Wavering was a worse offence than a poor decision, however common it was. 

“Favorite dish?” Adamanta questioned.

“Turkey with stuffing.”

“Pipeweed?”

“Old Toby.”

“Season?” 

“Autumn.”

Thorin smiled to himself. This was going so well! All of these questions were the ones he had practiced. What could possibly catch him offguar—

“Weapon of choice?” 

Thorin’s brow jumped to his hairline. 

Okay, so he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Sword,” he said carefully, glancing between the two women. 

Adamanta’s lips quirked up for a fraction of a second as Laura snorted.

“Well, I think we have what we need. Laura, anything you want to say to our host?” The Baggins lady cocked an eyebrow at her colleague. 

“The mash potatoes were good but the chicken needed more salt,” she declared coldly.

And with that, they left, saying he would receive word on their decision in the next few days.

To make a long story short, they said yes. 

\-------------------------------------------------

The idea of proposing was a daunting one. As the weeks passed and summer turned to autumn, the dwarf king wondered just how and when to ask. He was sure Bilba would say yes; the news of her grandmothers’ approval had swept through all of Hobbiton and then the entire Shire, and none were happier than her. But Thorin was still unsure if there was a certain etiquette to it, a special act or ritual that had to occur. He had asked some of the hobbit men he knew well, though every decription he received about how they had proposed sounded utterly different. 

Their answer? 

It was all about the family. 

Different families had different traditions, and none of the Took men or those who had married Took women would give him the truth. The Bagginses just brushed him off with a pleasant smile. The closest thing to an answer Thorin got was from Drogo and Hamfast, and they had just waved away the question with a laughing smile and told him not to worry about it. He was a dwarf; they weren’t expecting him to follow everything to the letter. 

And as relieved as that should have made him, Thorin felt rather offended. 

Was he not good enough? Not smart enough to learn their ways? Was this their way of saying he was unworthy of Bilba’s hand? 

A calmer voice in his head told him that perhaps hobbits were just as private as dwarves. Thorin had seen evidence of that before. Maybe they only wanted him to learn what he needed, maybe for now or forever. 

Either way, Thorin remained irritated. 

His mood only worsed as the temperature turned colder and fall started to fade. Time was running out. 

Thorin needed to figure out the ways of the Tooks and/or the Bagginses before winter. 

But no one would tell him anything!

So when he woke up tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged, Thorin was very confused. 

And worried. 

And furious. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” he roared. What had happened?! Where was he? Where was Bilba? The boys? Who had done this?!

“It’s called a kidnapping,” Bilba answered somewhere in front of him, sounding quite amused. 

“Bilba! Are you okay? What has happened?!” he asked frantically.

“I put a sleeping-drought in your ale last night and sent the boys off to Aunt Rosa this morning while you were in bed,” Bilba said flatly, smirking to herself, “Then I tied you up.”

Thorin’s head cocked to the side. What. 

“Why?” he asked, very befuddled. Bilba bit her lip to stop from smiling, not that he could see her. 

“You may recall some of my Took cousins talking of kidnapping you when you first met them?” Thorin nodded. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“Why?” Thorin asked again, only more confused. 

“Well, among us Tooks it’s the closest thing we have to a tradition to kidnap those we wish to marry. Consider it a…proposal,” Bilba giggled sheepishly. 

A proposal?

A proposal for what?

What did the Tooks have to do with kidna—

Oh. 

_Oh._

“You’re—You’re proposing to me?” Thorin almost gasped. 

A woman? Proposing? 

Via _kidnapping?!_

What in the name of Mahal—

“Yes. I am,” Bilba replied proudly. 

“So…how do I answer?” Thorin questioned. How does one approve of a kidnapping?

“Well, whatever you wish, you try to escape,” Bilba explained carefully, “If you don’t want to agree, you try your hardest to get away, and if you do, you’re free to go. If you can’t escape, that doesn’t mean you have to marry me, though you should still try your best. Now, if you do wish to marry me, you should still try to free yourself, but not work too hard at it and let me keep you here. It’s sort of like a game of cat-and-mouse, but with a cage.”

Thorin pondered this for a moment. He had played in the War Games during his training in Erebor. This didn’t sound so different or difficult. All he had to do was try to escape and fail at it, and Bilba seemed to be a bright captor. 

“And how long do I have to escape?” he asked. 

“Until nightfall—or until one of us gives up.” 

“Well then, my fair abductor,” Thorin grinned with anticipation, “Prepare to surrender.” 

And when the ropes that had been tying his hands together behind his back suddenly fell to the floor, Bilba realized she might have bitten off more than she could chew. 

He ripped off the blindfold to find that they were in her study, and he rose to his full height. 

“I hope you know, Ms. Hobbit, that we dwarves never fall without a fight,” Thorin growled with a predatory smile, and began to take a step forward. “And you just kidnapped the Erebor War Games Champion of three yeaaARRRGH—“

And that is when he fell flat on his face, his ankles having been tied to the chair legs. 

For the love of—

Fine. 

She wanted to play games?

Thorin was a king! A warrior and a leader of his people! 

He could win this petty hobbit competition, easily at that. 

“And I hope you know, Mr. Dwarf, that we hobbits are crafty and sadistic. And you were just kidnapped by the daughter of a long line of kidnappers. My father may have built Bag End tto woo Belladonna, but did that stop her from kidnapping him? No. And the Old Took kidnapped Adamanta, and Hildigrim kidnapped Rosa, and Mirabella kidnapped Gorbadoc, and what are you doing? No, stop that! Thorin—Don’t you dare—THORIN!”

He grinned as his hands gripped her ankles and pulled her feet out from under her. Bilba hit the floor with a thud and a groan, glaring angrily at the dwarf. She snarled and struggled, trying to kick him, while he released one foot to untie his own. 

“You’re going to have to do better than this,” Thorin sneered playfully. 

“I plan to,” she replied indignantly. Her foot tore from his grasp and Bilba jumped to her feet. “Good luck, your Majesty.” She winked at him with an evil grin and darted out the door, and Thorin heard it lock from the other side. 

He snorted and finished untying himself. Really, he had made those locks himself. Did she think they could hold him? If this was the best she had, failing might actually be difficult.

Thorin made it past the lock with a strong quill and a well-placed slam against the door. Let it be said, Thorin was not one for subtlely.

He stuck his head out into the hall, looking for his hobbit, and his eyes widened in horror. 

The entire hall was lined with traps. Ropes criss-crossed the hallway, metal contraptions that looked like non-lethal bear-traps covered the floor, and there was Bilba standing at the other end. She didn’t look even slightly disheveled. 

“Give up yet?” she giggled. He merely growled under his breath. 

Bloody hobbits. 

Thorin stormed through the hall like a troll through a forest, kicking the metal traps to the side and tearing at the ropes that dared to stand in his path. Bilba’s eyebrows jumped. Those traps were usually quite challenging for any non-Took hobbit to pass (as Tooks were taught to cross them at their coming of age). 

But of course, Bilba had forgotten one little piece of crucial information. 

Thorin was not a hobbit at all. 

Yavanna damn it. 

Plan B then. 

She dashed to the kitchen. 

Her sticky buns would give him a run for his money. Bilba could hear him stomping down the hall as she scooped up the buns. She spun to face the doorway just as he appeared there. The buns flew from her hand, aimed for his beard and hair, when he flew back into the hall.

“Old fat hobbit running in a smial! Old fat hobbit can't see me!” Thorin sang tauntingly as she rushed after him. Bilba was baring her teeth in anger. She was going to get that dwarf!

“Attercop! Attercop! Won't you stop? Stop your running and look at me!” she heard him call from somewhere unseen. Bilba chased his voice, but at every turn he was missing. When had he figured out her home so well?!

“Bilba Baggins, all small body! Bilba Baggins can't spy me!” Thorin shouted with a smirk. She was not the only who could mess with others’ minds. And Bilba was rather adorable when she was furious and frustrated. Her cheeks flushed and her lips pursed and—

Back to the matter at hand. 

Hobbits were usually quiet creatures, but Bilba’s rage had a way of getting to her. Loudly. 

Her huffing and puffing could have been mistaken for a wolf, and Thorin knew she was approaching.

“Attercop! Attercop! Down you drop!” he teased. 

“Thorin!” she roared, just as he pulled the slender rope in front of her taught. “When I get my hands on you, I’m gonnAAHHH!” 

This time, it was Bilba who fell on her face. 

Thorin had to hold back for fear of laughing hysterically. 

“You'll never catch me up your tree!” he mocked, and ran off. 

Bilba snarled to herself. 

That maddening dwarf wasn’t even trying to escape. 

A few hours later, after two close-calls, a lunch truce, and some help from the family (the Tooks naturally barred the doors while Fíli and Kíli attempted to free him), Thorin had failed to escape from Bag End before the sun set. 

Thorin Oakenshield and Bilba Baggins were officially engaged. 

\-------------------------------------------------

“Bilba?”

“Yes, Thorin?” she replied, glancing up from her crochet. It was the day after the kidnapping, which was still a large source of laughter for both parties, and the family of four was resting in the sitting room after supper. 

It had been over a year since the dwarves’ arrival at Bag End, and Fíli and Kíli had grown quite a bit. Fíli had learned to not stress so harshly when it was not necessary, and Kíli had come to terms with his mother’s death. He was also learning to speak clearer with help from his big brother. 

The brothers were sitting on the floor, playing with some of the wooden toys Bofur had made them. Bilba and Thorin sat together on the couch, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder. She was crocheting quietly as he watched his nephews. The dwarf king was sure he would never grow tired of moments like these. After decades of struggle and starvation, loss and desperation, he had finally found somewhere safe. He and his boys were fed, clean, and cared for. It wasn’t Erebor, but everyday seemed like one step closer to calling this place home. 

“In dwarven marriages…” Thorin spoke carefully and lowly, “Fiancés would exchange beads of their family, to show the bond.” He glanced at his hobbit (because now she really was) to make sure she understood. At her nod, he took a deep breath and continued. “I know you hobbits do not have such things, and after what happened to your braid…” He felt Bilba shiver against him and squeezed her gently. “I made you this, instead.” Thorin reached into his pocket and pulled out a slender silver cylinder. A small piece down the long side was missing, but it had two modest emeralds on the outside. “You can wear it on the cuff of your ear. It is my work, but no one would be able to tell.” 

He gently placed it in her open hand and she held it up to her face. Bilba had felt guilty about Thorin having to give up so much of his own culture. If it had been her, she knew she’d feel alone. 

“Oh, Thorin.” She beamed at him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Bilba pulled back her hair and slid the bead onto her left ear. She kissed his cheek and snuggled closer, ignoring the boys’ gagging sounds. 

Thorin smiled to himself, and tried to forget the other reason he had chosen to forge her an ear cuff. 

(Because she is _his_ hobbit, and no one is touching _her_ ears but _him_.)

\-------------------------------------------------

The first order of business was planning the wedding. They set a date for early spring, and started making lists and teaching each other about hobbit and dwarf wedding ceremonies. 

Thorin debated on how to invite the dwarves. He couldn’t risk being found out. Nothing could be worse than being attacked on his wedding day, but he knew his friends would want to be there, especially Dwalin. He had planned to be Dwalin’s Best Dwarf at his and Dis’s wedding. 

So he wrote as vaguely as he could, hoping his company would understand. Thorin bought an inconspicuous raven in Bree, under a fake name, and sent his letter. He couldn’t risk sending it to Balin or Dwalin; they were under too much suspicion already. Nori moved around so much he’d be hard to reach. Gloin and Oin likely wouldn’t be able to come because of the nearing birth of Gloin’s child. Dori and Bofur were the safest options. 

Considering how short Thorin and Bilba’s courtship had been compared to a traditional dwarf one, he chose Bofur. 

_To Bofur of the Broadbeams,_

_Your friends are getting married._

_You are cordially invited, and welcome to bring others._

Thorin finished with the date and time, and sent it off. 

Hopefully, nothing would go horribly wrong. 

\-------------------------------------------

Winter passed much more peacefully than the previous one, though Bilba did get a cold and Fíli and Kíli declared themselves her official caretakers, and rarely left her side. It was terribly endearing, but Bilba spent the entire time worrying that the boys would catch her bug, despite Thorin’s assurances that dwarves did not get sick. 

Spring brought its usual joy amongst the hobbits, and with it came the dwarves. 

Dori, Nori, and Ori returned, the children happily reunited. Bofur and Bifur came back, this time bringing Bombur. The cook’s wife was pregnant, but she knew the birthing process better than most doctors, and Oin had offered his help. Bombur was especially interested in hobbit dishes and the look on his face when he learned about their seven meals a day was priceless. Dwalin arrived and his dark demeanor immediately brightened at the sight of his king. 

And he had brought his brother. 

Balin was a shorter dwarf with a fluffly white beard and a red coat. Bilba knew he was a few years ahead of Thorin, but he looked older than the king had described. Evidently, a year of working with murderers had taken its toll. He greeted her with a warm smile and a respectful bow, thanking her for taking them in. Dwalin had told him in detail what the evil dwarves had done to her, and Balin’s faith in her was solidified. 

The wedding was in a few days, and preperations were already taking place. Bilba had sent out the invites to the hobbits (purposely excluding the Sackville-Bagginses) and all had replied affirmatively. Many were volunteering their help and their cooking, and the dwarves were happy to lend a hand. 

The differing gift-giving traditions of the two races had been sorted out; both the couple and the guests would give and receive presents. Bombur and Dori were promising excellent dwarvish dishes, while Nori and Bofur were teaching dwarvish dances. Ori was able to play with Fíli and Kíli and the hobbit children she had befriended, while Dwalin introduced his brother to the hobbit elders, who found him very agreeable. Bifur began carving toys again, the large number of spring birthdays promising a large payout.

With the dwarves back in town, Bilba saw Thorin relax once more, his shoulders less tense and his brow unfurrowed. It soothed her worrying heart. Now that they were here, Thorin would have an easier time incorporating dwarven wedding tradition. 

Which, apparently, was very, very different from the hobbit way. 

In dwarven marriage ceremonies, dwarves wore large amounts of jewelry and gems and precious metals, to show what they were willing to give to their spouse. It was a sign of love and devotion, like their longer courtships and beads. Also, all vows were spoken in Khuzdul. Not only that, but due to the fact that this was a Royal wedding (not that the hobbits knew), both the groom and bride needed to wear thick crowns, embossed with the Durin insignia. 

In contrast, hobbit wore the barest clothes they had. Simple cottom shirts, trousers or skirts (in the richer families, the brides would usually buy dresses, but they were little more than tailored pieces of white fabric), and that was it. It was a sign of trust, that they were marrying each other not for riches or power, but for each other. The only other things were the flower crowns that the spouses weaved for the other to wear. That’s why the flower language was taught so seriously to hobbit children. It was a large part of their culture, in ode to Yavanna, and weddings were no exception. Every flower had a meaning, and the combination of different flowers could mean a lot. 

So Bilba and Thorin were in a bit of a pickle. 

But before the wedding, there were the parties. 

\----------------------------------------------------

“Come on, Thorin! The night won’t wait for us!” Bofur shouted gleefully. The other male dwarves (except for Fíli and Kíli, who were staying with the Brandybucks as Primula’s stories had made the bunch quite curious) were standing in the foyer, dressed nicely for a night on the town. Drogo and Hamfast were with them, to make sure they didn’t get lost, though most hobbits would’ve agreed the boy was too young for this sort of thing.

This sort of thing being the Bachelor Party.

Thorin hadn’t been planning to have one, but Bofur and Nori had insisted and gotten the others interested as well. Such parties were one of the few things both peoples had in common, and even Hamfast was insistent that Thorin should have one. He had been worried about Bilba’s reaction, but when he mentioned it just a few moments earlier, she just grinned and shooed him off to get dressed. 

“I’m here,” Thorin growled irritably as he strode to meet the others. 

“’Bout time,” Dwalin snorted, surprisingly amused. Thorin just shook his head. Who talked him into this?

Right.

Everyone.

“I hope you lads have a good time,” Bilba chuckled. Ori waved at her brothers as the dwarves began to file out, Nori far more excited about the night than his brother.

“You girls have a fun night in. Don’t wait up for us!” Bofur laughed as he and Dwalin pulled Thorin through the doorway. 

“Bye,” Bilba said with a grin, and closed the door behind them. 

A night in?

Please.

This was the Bachelorette Party.

Bilba and Ori shared a knowing look, and started setting out the food. 

Half an hour later, the girls showed up.

Amaranth, Asphodel, and Primula Brandybuck (along with Menegilda, Rorimac’s wife) were the first to show up. Bilba had hosted Amaranth’s party before her marriage, and the Brandybuck was happy to return the favor. Belba, Linda, and Chica (Bingo’s wife) Baggins were next, followed by Rosa and the other Took women. Bell Gamgee arrived after them, bringing her Shire-famous cookies with her.

“Shall we begin, ladies?” Rosa called out, interrupting the small chatter of the women milling about. The others nodded and headed for the dining room, sitting down at the long table. Bilba felt a tug at her skirt and glanced down to find Ori biting her lip. 

“What’s wrong, dear?” 

“What’s going to happen, Bilba? Are we having another girly night?” 

Bilba chuckled, “No, not this time. The ladies are all here to help me get my things ready for the wedding. Now could you go bring in the scones I made?” Ori nodded and scuttled off, and Bilba heard Rosa call for her. 

“Yes, Aunt Rosa?” 

“Come here, darling! I have something to show you,” she shouted from down the hall. Bilba strode towards the voice and found Rosa standing in a spare room, her back to the door as she faced the bed. 

“What is it?” 

Rosa turned back to her with loving smile and stepped aside. And Bilba saw that there, lying on the bed, was her mother’s wedding dress. Her eyes widened in shock and her lips quivered. She had thought it lost! 

“How came you by this?” she asked breathlessly. Rosa gazed at her warmly. 

“It was given to be by your mother, by Belladonna, for safekeeping,” she said, and had to swallow to stop her voice from cracking at the memory, “It is yours now.”

Bilba crept towards the bed, disbelieving. She had always known that Belladonna and Rosa were close. Rosa Took had once been Rosa Baggins, before she was so adoringly courted (and kidnapped!) by Hildigrim Took. Sisters-In-Law closer than sisters, the two had aided each other time and again with the families’ differing customs. Rosa had babysat Bilba more than once, and had been there for her after her mother’s death more than anyone. 

But this? This was more than she had ever expected. 

“Thank you,” Bilba rasped. 

“Think nothing of it, love.” Rosa watched as Bilba tentatively picked up the dress, holding it against herself. It was astonishing how much she and her mother looked alike sometimes. 

The two women met eyes, each holding back loving tears, though they shared smiles. 

“Come now, darling. We can’t keep the ladies waiting,” Rosa nearly choked. Bilba nodded.

She gently carried it over her arm, back to the others. The women watched her enter the dining room and lay the dress out on the table. The girls were already working on a few of the other garments, her veil and and train, as well as talking about the decorations for the wedding in three days’ time. 

“It’s beautiful,” Primula whispered in awe, and many of the hobbit lasses nodded. Belladonna had never been a fan of dresses in her younger years, only wearing skirts for the functional benefits, but her wedding dress had been a different matter. The eldest daughter of the Old Took, Belladonna had every seamstress in the Shire begging her to wear one of their dresses. The one she had chosen had not been made for function or cleverness, but for beauty. Belladonna did not ususally concern herself with looks, but that had been a special day. For her and for Bungo. 

It was stark white and longer than most hobbit dresses, hiding her feet. It had a slim V-neck and the collar curled up her neck slightly. The arms were entirely lace, down to her wrists. Her long red-gold hair had been tied up around itself, her flower crown braided into her curls. 

And now it was Bilba’s turn. 

“What would you like us to do, darling?” Menegilda asked. 

Such was the purpose of hobbit bachelorette parties. Gossip and giggles, yes, but the main idea was to get the bridal gown ready. Some girls wore their mothers’, some bought new dresses and wanted them altered. It was a time for the future wife to sit down with her friends and family, married, courting, or single, and just talk as they worked together. The hobbits were a communal people, in all things. 

Bilba’s choice was a common one: alter her mother’s dress, or leave it be? 

She was sure her mother would have liked it if she left it the way it was, but Belladonna probably would have been proud if she made it her own. And then there was Thorin to think about. They had agreed to try and merge the wedding customs; that Thorin’s outfit would be plain (for a dwarf) and Bilba’s would be extravagant (for a hobbit). He was making metal crowns for them (though they were much more modest than they would have been in Erebor) as well as a flower crown. Bilba felt like she needed to make an effort, and this was how. 

“I was thinking…”Bilba bit her lip and thought for a moment. “I was hoping that we could put some gold thread along the hems and in the lace. And I’d appreciate it if someone could lower the neckline a little. Would it be possible to embroider the front of it with some dark blue?” 

Bilba glanced up from the dress and saw the surprised faces. Most of the ladies’ eyes were as wide as saucers, though they didn’t seem to be disapproving. Rosa blinked at her for a moment. 

“Embroider…what?” 

“Ori?” Bilba gazed at the girl. Ori pulled her sketchbook from her pocket and quickly flipped through the pages. When she reached the one she wanted, she held it up for all to see. “Dwarf families each have an insignia. During a wedding, each spouse wears the other’s emblem. I want to do that.” In Ori’s book was a picture of the Durin sign, detailed and clear. 

A few of the women were staring at the dress, the worry over the daunting task evident on their faces. But most were smiling at Bilba. 

“Then we are with you, lass,” Belba said confidantly, “We will see it done.”

Bilba beamed as the others nodded and sat down. The women began their tasks, sewing, embroidering, cleaning. Ori and Primula watched and studied, fetching tea and biscuits when needed, and the group spent the night laughing and learning, swapping stories of their husbands and brothers, gossiping over nothing and everything. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Thorin was not sure if he was having a wonderful night or a terrifying one. 

The dwarves were getting more drunk every hour, and Thorin was split between laughing at their antics and stopping them from offending all the hobbits. 

He, Balin, and Dwalin were content to sit at their table and laugh over old stories, but the others were much more active. Bofur had brought out his flute and had joined the hobbits that had instruments. They were trading hobbit and dwarf drinking songs, much to the amusement of the bartenders. Nori had joined in the singing for a bit, but now was just being chased by Dori. Evidently, his older brother thought if he was left alone for five minutes, Nori would manage to find some illegal activity, and immediately join in on it. Bifur and Bombur were busy eating, a salad and a turkey, respectively. 

“Last night as a free dwarf,” Dwalin chuckled and elbowed his ribs, “Any last wishes?” 

“That my friends might not get me exiled from the Shire just before my wedding.” 

The brothers laughed, booming and relaxed, and Balin gave him a slap on his arm. 

“It’s not as bad as they say,” Balin said with a small smirk, “I’m sure you and Bilba will be very happy together. You have been so far, even if she has usurped the boys’ loyalty.” 

“Aye, now you only have to worry about pitchforks and torches. I’m sure the hobbits are taking the horrid corruption of their princess quite well. Can’t trust those dwarves, y’know. They’ll burn your crops and steal your women!” Dwalin roared in laughter, his brother joining in. Thorin just sat there and rolled his eyes. 

“We’re going have carry the others home,”Thorin said dryly. 

“If I don’t have to carry you home tonight I won’t have done my job,” Dwalin snorted, sliding another tankard in front of his king. Thorin sighed as his shoulders slumped, and he accepted his fate. Tomorrow morning would not be pleasant. 

\----------------------------------------------

“What did you do to him?”

Bilba stared at the passed out dwarves in front of her. The girls had headed home hours ago, and the dwarves had just returned.

Well, ‘returned’ being the operative word. 

Bofur and Nori were unconscious on the couch, Bombur was so full he could barely walk and could fall asleep at any moment, Dori and Dwalin were carrying Thorin whose head was hanging so far his hair went down in a curtain to his waist. Bifur was tucking in his cousin, and Balin at least had the heart to look sheepish. 

“It would seem, Ms. Baggins, that we underestimated the strength of hobbit drink,” the elder dwarf admitted. 

“And pipeweed,” Dwalin muttered. 

Bilba shook her head. 

“Just put him to bed. I’ll bring out some blankets for the others.” 

As annoyed as she was at the dwarves’ foolishness (and as insulted as she felt at the dwarves’ low-thinking of their mead), Bilba still had to stifle a laugh. If this was just the bachelor party, how drunk would they get at the wedding?

\----------------------------------------------------

Bilba woke up two days later with one thought. 

She was getting married. 

In a few hours. 

Oh my. 

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Rolling her shoulders, she took a deep breath and tried to relax. They had been planning this for months. Everything would be fine. Completely fine. 

All she had to do was meet with the girls before hand to get her hair braided up, the dress on, and check to make sure the dwarves hadn’t destroyed any of the furniture. The Tooks and Bagginses were handling the organization, and the Brandybucks had the food covered. She just had to walk down the aisle, say a few words, and party the rest of the afternoon. 

No worries. 

Bilba got up and put on some plain clothes she could change out of later. She needed breakfast. Food made everything better. But when she strolled to the kitchen, she found someone she did not expect. 

“Gandalf?!”

The wizard’s smile crinkled his beard, the large figure taking up most of the room as the youngest dwarves stared up in awe. 

“Good morning, Bilba,” he said. 

“Gandalf!” she shrieked with delight, jumping into his open arms, “I didn’t think you would make it!” 

“I would not miss this for the world, my dear.”

They hugged for a moment before Bilba had lost the will to fight her need for food, and the two began to chat as the baby dwarves listened. The other dwarves had been invited to stay at the Tooks’, for Thorin needed help getting his dwarven outfit ready and he and Bilba were not permitted to see each other before the ceremony.

“Should we be expecting fireworks tonight?” she asked.

“Certainly. I even have a very special one, just for the occasion. Though I do have one request…”

“Hmm?” Bilba raised an eyebrow over her tea. “And what would that be?”

“To walk you down the aisle.” 

Bilba blinked. 

“You really want to?” Bilba asked quietly. 

“Well, I think it would only be fitting that the person who introduced you to your future husband should hand you off to him,” he said in that very wizardly way that made it sound like he was speaking the obvious. 

“Then I would be honored.”

\----------------------------------------------

In Thorin’s defense, having a wedding in a village not your own, among a people not your own, with a culture not your own, could be very nerve-wracking. 

Still, Dwalin and the others would never let him live down the fact that his fingers were trembling. 

_Trembling._

Stones did not tremble. 

Nonetheless, they still helped him prepare his robes. A thick, dark blue robe (IT’S NOT A DRESS DROGO BE QUIET HOBBIT) with golden hemming and the Durin insignia above his heart. His steel crown sat over his thick hair, matched by the rings on his finger. His sword hung proudly at his side, his oaken branch on the other. 

It sounded like a lot, but in comparison to what it could have been, Thorin was dressed quite modestly. 

“A bit plain, but you still look like a king, laddy,” Balin said proudly. 

“Aye, the hobbits won’t know what hit them,” Dwalin agreed. 

Thorin stood tall in the mirror, his broad shoulders and large muscles accentuated by his royal garments. He felt every inch a king, at least until he heard a snicker behind him. 

“Yes, very, very handsome,” Nori said slyly. 

“But you’re missing one very important piece!” Bofur said, eerily cheery. 

“And what would that be?” Dwalin snorted lowly. Nori and Bofur shared a smile, and then called for Bifur. The older dwarf walked in quickly, and opened his hands. 

The flower crown. 

Dwalin choked on air. 

It was a thick wreath of red chrysanthemums for sharing, delphiniums for boldness, gardenias for joy, hydrangeas for perserverance, snowdrops for hope, and red and white carnations for pure, romantic love. 

And the dwarves exploded. 

Thorin snorted angrily over the unhindered laughter, and grabbed the flowers. 

Damn plants. 

\-------------------------------------------

“How do I look?” Bilba asked, twirling in her gown.

“Divine, love,” Rosa beamed at her niece. 

The white dress curved with her body, and the golden thread detail was stunning. Her honey hair had been braided affectionately by Dori before he headed off with the other dwarves. Her emerald ear cuff was shining bright and her dwarf-friend bead was shown proudly. The flower crown Thorin had pain-stakingly made was already in her hair, filled with pink carnations for gratitude, daisies for innocence, gladiolus for strength of character, larkspur for a beautiful spirit, and violets for faithfulness. 

“One more thing!” Kíli shouted happily. 

“What’s that, love?” Bilba asked. 

“The crown!”

As if on cue, Fíli slowly walked into the room, carefully carrying a plush pillow with a small tiara atop it. The hobbits’ eyes widened in shock. It was petite, elegant, and entirely gold. The crown looked like a halo, curving with the most precise detail with tiny wires curling out of it, tiny gold leaves seeming to grow from the very metal vines. The work of a dwarven master.

“Oh, Bilba,” Belba murmured, “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s magnificent.” 

Bilba nodded absentmindedly. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It glowed and glittered in the sunlight from the window, twinkling like a star. 

Oh, Thorin.

\----------------------------------------------

“Here she comes,” Dwalin whispered. 

And he was right. Thorin stood at the base of the largest tree in the Shire with the Thain at his right, Dwalin and Balin on his left. The crowd of hobbits (and the handful of dwarves) parted like a river around a rock as the music began to play. Above their heads, Thorin spotted the gray wizard, staff in one hand, a smaller hand in the other. 

And then he saw Bilba. 

He was no wordsmith, but he could not imagine any who could describe her. She shined like a light in the darkness, a gift from the heavens. For once in his life, Thorin felt his heart palpitate. Her hair glittered like gold, her eyes like emeralds, her lips like rubies, and was that—

She was wearing the Durin emblem. It was sewn into the dress, starting at her hips and flowing downward, a beautiful, intricate design of dark blue. 

Ori strode in front of her, in a little white dress, dropping flower petals down the path for her and the wizard to walk. Her braids swung with her steps and she radiated joy. 

The moments Bilba paced towards him seemed to last an eternity, though Thorin couldn’t complain. Neither could Bilba for that matter, seeing her dwarf standing proud amonst her family and friends, accepted lovingly. His blue eyes never left hers and she could barely hear the music in the background. Vaguely, she knew the hobbits and dwarves around her were grinning with delight, but she saw little but Thorin. 

When she reached the tree, the Thain began his speech, but the two were so busy smiling like doves at each other that Bilba missed her cue. 

T’was quite funny. 

But the ceremony carried on with not another hitch, and soon it came time for the rings. 

Which were carried in by none other than Fíli and Kíli. 

In hindsight, this might not have been the best idea. 

The ringbearers marched down the flower-petaled path like the princes they were, finely dressed in dark blue tunics and trousers. Their hair was pulled back by their clips and blew in the breeze as they carried the rings towards the tree on tiny pillows. The women were cooing and the dwarves were elbowing each other with grins. The boys were grinning as well, and then—

Fíli tripped. 

There was a large gasp from the crowd as Fíli dropped to the floor in an arm-waving ring-throwing scene. Kíli fell immediately after, tripping over one of Fíli arms, sending his ring (Bilba’s) flying towards the tree. 

Bilba and Thorin were too stunned to react as the two boys jumped to their feet, each running after their respective wedding band. Fíli dashed into the crowds, ducking and crawling under the chairs and bumping more than a few hobbits as he bounded after his lost ring. Kíli sprinted up towards the couple, scampering under Thorin’s robes to the shock of the crowd (and the king). The boy scurried around, searching the ground for the gold band. 

“Got it!” Fíli shouted seconds later. 

“Found it!” Kíli yelled as well. 

By this time, most of the hobbits were staring with open jaws and dumbstruck eyes. Bilba was taking deep breaths to fight hyperventilation, and her face was as red as a cherry. 

The dwarves, however, could not hold in their laughter. 

Neither could Gandalf. 

But soon enough, the rings got handed off to the couple, who placed them on each other’s hands. 

“I now pronounce you Dwarf and…uh...Hobbit…wife. Yes. Just kiss,” the Thain finished with a sigh. 

Bilba leaned in with a gentle smile for the kiss, but Thorin had other plans. He wrapped his arms around her, dipped her down with a swing like they were dancing, and kissed her thoroughly. The hobbits and dwarves cheered loudly, and Bilba promptly fainted in light of it all. 

\-------------------------------------------

Hobbit drink was not the only thing the dwarves had underestimated. The hobbits’ ability to party was remarkable, for their kegs never stopped coming and the piles of food never seemed to shrink. The Brandybucks’ cake was as tall as Fíli (though Bombur’s ‘groom’s cake’ was very nice too), the presents were each heartfelt and generous, and the prize for the arm-wrestling competition (some Took thought of it, Bilba was sure) was a very nice bag of silver pieces that Dori was more than happy to beat Dwalin for. 

The hobbits had never seen such large muscles. More than one lass swooned. 

And Gorbadoc would never live the loss down. 

The eating competition was by far the most watched event. Everyone knew that the entry would have to be limited for the sake of the food, and Bofur brought up the idea that each race should put up one champion. Naturally, Bombur was elected by the dwarves (and if Dwalin noticed Bofur and Nori passing bags of coin with the betting hobbits, he ignored it). 

The large crowd of hobbits huddled for a moment, a mass of curly hair and whispers that had all of the dwarves swapping humored glances. Who of these tiny people could best the chef from the west? 

After a minute, the hobbits parted and Bilba stepped forward.

“Dwarves, may I introduce to you, the Shire’s greatest eater, Primula Brandybuck!” 

The young teen rose to Bilba’s side, and cracked her knuckles with a menacing smile. 

The dwarves, once again, were laughing. 

As was Gandalf, but for an entirely different reason. 

The two sat down at opposite ends of a long table, each race standing by their champion. 

“Go!”

The two immediately dug in, scarfing down food so fast it was stunning. Turkey, chicken, beef, ham, you name it. There were cupcakes, pastries, cookies, and desserts of all sorts that didn’t seem to end. Time passed, the groups watching as the dinner began to dwindle, and to the dwarves’ horror, Bombur was losing steam. His stomach seemed to just be running out of space, while Primula was driving through a plate of buttery biscuits with no lost stamina. 

Bofur and Nori started sweating as the hobbits’ roaring got louder and Primula got close to the end of her half of the table. Bombur was looking a sickly shade of green, and as the last of the cookies passed Primula’s lips, he admitted defeat. 

The victorious day for the hobbits would go down in history. 

Gandalf's firework show was certainly impressive, amazing even the dwarves who had witnessed fancy fire before. But the best of the night was the one firework that exploded into the forms of a (quite familiar looking) hobbit and dwarf, who danced in each other's arms before kissing. There were quite a few 'oohhhhhh's thrown towards the couple. 

So there was only one thing left: the bouquet. 

The dwarves didn’t quite understand the prophesying ability of flower bundles, but they were happy to alot it to Yavanna’s magic and Fairy Blood. 

Bilba shut her eyes and turned her back to the crowd of excited girls. Unfortunately, Bilba’s arms had gotten much stronger than the average hobbit lass’s under Thorin’s sword tutelage. The flowers flew far over the crowd, sailing past tables and tents, and landed safe and sound.

In Bifur’s lap. 

Where they were quickly eaten. 

Needless to say, there was a large huff of irritation from the ladies. 

But as the night wound down, hobbits drifted home and the children fell asleep in the adults’ arms. The hobbits and dwarves each helped cleaning things up, but when Bilba and Thorin volunteered they were quickly shut down. 

“The only thing you two need to do is go home and enjoy yourselves,” Dwalin smirked with a wink that had Bilba blushing. But everyone agreed (some more loudly and/or lewdly than others) and the wedded couple headed for Bag End. They had planned a honeymoon in West Farthing, and were leaving tomorrow morning, but for now, the night was theirs. 

Bilba found the short walk up the hill quite calm and serene—her arm wrapped around Thorin’s, the two now bound together. It was…reassuring. To have him there. 

And she shrieked when he scooped her up in a bridal carry. Thorin chuckled as she slapped his shoulder, but still she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him go on. He pushed the door open with his side, closing it with a kick, and headed down the hall. 

“I’m glad the Tooks offered to take in the dwarves for another night,” Thorin said quietly. “I’d hate for one of the boys to walk in on us.”

“Why?” Bilba asked, her voice dripping with fake innocence as she looked up at him with an equally false expression of confusion. “What could they possibly be walking in on?” Thorin snorted and smirked as he pushed the door to what was now their bedroom. 

“I think you can imagine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so can you! 
> 
> Hehe.


	21. Honeys and Hairy Situations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACKKKKKKK  
> A million apologies, and I would list the reasons for my absence, but I think you'd rather just get to the chapter. 
> 
> Anyway, 
> 
> Honeymoon!  
> Kid times!  
> Side character relationships!  
> Aaaaannnnnddddd  
> no smut. 
> 
> Sorry guys.  
> But snuggles?

Blood. Blood everywhere. It’s all she could smell, all she could see, all she could think. Bilba was covered in it; the thick liquid had soaked through her clothes and she felt the chill of it on her skin. Running desperately through her home, only one other thought appeared in her mind. 

The blood wasn’t hers. 

But it was everywhere, splattered across the walls, dripping to the already drenched floors. Her hair was matted with it; she tasted it in her mouth, heard it rushing in her head, felt her own blood turn cold in her veins. 

Where were her boys?! 

Where was Thorin—he wasn’t supposed to be at the forge today! Oh dear Yavanna, where were Fíli and Kíli?! Bag End was too quiet, too still, like Bilba was the only living thing inside it. She searched frantically, sprinting from room to room until—

NO!

_Why weren’t they moving-where was Thorin-who had done this-were they breathing?!_

Bilba dropped to the floor in the kitchen by the small figures on the ground, each just as coated in blood as her. They were lying face down, unmoving, unflinching as she turned them towards her. 

She gasped as her stomach flipped, one hand going to her heart as the other so hesitantly touched them. Fíli’s blond hair, stringy from dried blood, with glazed blue eyes. Kíli’s emotionless face, silent as the still air, his skin as cold as winter. 

No—nonononononoNO!

_Where was Thorin-what happened-whodidthis-wherewas—_

“Bilba Baggins.” 

She spun on her heels, expecting Thorin from the deep voice behind her. _They could run-go after who had done this-get Dwalin and Nori and—_

It wasn’t Thorin. 

The dwarf standing in front of her, ragged blond hair and a frightening and familiar smile, holding an axe in one hand, a—oh Yavanna was that a head?! 

Was that Thorin’s head?!

“No!” she screamed, falling to her knees in terror and heartbreak, and his smile widened. He stalked towards her, axe leaning towards her neck as she scrambled back, but it wasn’t enough and she screamed as he swung and—

And Thorin woke with a jolt. 

At first he thought they were under attack (which scared him more than ever because he and his wife were actually alone in this house for once) but there was no one in the bedroom but them. His eyes snapped to his terrified wife, but he knew not to touch Bilba when she woke from a nightmare like this. It happened enough in the weeks after her attack for him to know to stay back. The scream died a second after it started, and she sat up in (what was now) their bed, panting and whimpering. 

They were both naked, save for the blankets, and she clutched them to herself like her life depended on it. Shoulders heaving, tears streaming, Bilba slowly came back to the world. 

Thorin stared at the scars he could see, the ones darting her arms and collar. They had joked about them earlier, when they were undressing, that she had more scars than even he, the mighty Thorin Oakenshield with all his battles and glory. She had laughed about them, easy as a child. 

He wasn’t sure what brought on this nightmare. The jokes were obviously a possibility, but it could just as easily be how exposed and vulnerable she might have felt when they were together. Neither of them had been virgins, but she hadn’t been with anyone since he arrived (as far as he knew). But, somewhere deep in his mind, a scared voice whispered that she might have been having the nightmares all this time, and he had just not noticed. 

Thorin stopped that train of thought immediately. No, he would have heard the screams. No, she would have told him. No, he had never seen a trace of the fear or pain those dwarves had brought her in months. 

The only factor that had changed was him. 

Suddenly, Bilba shivered and her arms curled around her body. His heart leaped, his body instinctively leaning forward to comfort her, and his mind just barely held him back. Stubborn as stone, he would only move if invited. 

Slowly her breathing moved back to normal, though it still sounded wet. She brushed her hair behind her ears and turned to look at him, emerald eyes glistening with tears. 

“Thorin,” she whispered, her voice desperate and raw, and he did not hesitate. His arms around her, her head in the crook of his neck, they remained together for an untold time. Thorin combed her hair with his fingers, draping the covers around and over them for her warmth. She leaned up and kissed him, surprising him for a moment before he kissed back lightly. 

“Better?” he asked quietly. She shrugged, unusually silent. Normally, Bilba would already be talking about what had happened, and Thorin would be telling her soft comforts in return, but this…it worried him. 

“Can we go see the others tomorrow before we leave?” she asked, breaking her silence. 

“Of course,” he answered. 

He was pretty sure that by ‘others’ she meant Fíli and Kíli, but he knew better than to say it out loud. If the dream had shaken her so badly she didn’t want to talk about it, okay. Thorin wouldn’t push. Bilba knew she could tell him anything, and could tell him in her own time. It was their wedding night, for pities’ sake, no reason to make it worse. 

Thorin knew things would get better. It had taken him a year, a wizard, a village of hobbits and one in particular, and countless other little things for him to realize it, but he knew it would. 

What he didn’t know was that the dream was the first time Bilba had ever seen her husband as anything less than indestructible. 

\-------------------------------------------

They dropped by the Tooks’ the next morning for final goodbyes, though the dwarves would still be there when they got back from the trip. Thorin caught Bilba hugging the boys extra close, and then whispering something in Dwalin’s ear to which the guard firmly nodded. Bilba hadn’t said a word about her dream, at least not to him, and he forced himself to not ask. 

If it was important, she would tell him. 

The carriage ride to West Farthing took a few hours, but they arrived just in time for tea at the villa they were staying at. Their smial wasn’t as big as Bag End, but it was cozy and out of the way. The new couple began to unpack, jokes and kisses flying between them, and Thorin started to relax. This was their honeymoon! 

Dinner and supper were calm, the pair working together to cook. They ate in front of the fire, snuggling under the throw blankets. If they had been married in Erebor, Thorin knew they could have gone anywhere in Middle Earth, but oddly enough he liked this place. No bustle, no work, no one to give them grief or keep them apart. 

Thorin remembered Dis’s honeymoon. The entire family had saved up money to send them as far as they could, thinking the couple would want to get away. Well, they did, but Dis and her husband just decided to go camping a few mountains over, away from the growing city. Thorin had thought it pitiful, unfit for a princess, but Dis came back raving about how wonderful it was. Just her and her love, with no power or riches to speak of, were happy as long as they were together. 

Dis would have liked Bilba. 

Thorin tried to stop thinking of it, but Bilba spared him the effort, tugging on his tunic with a grin and a nod towards the bedroom. He matched the smile and followed. 

Afterwards, as Bilba rested her head on his shoulder with his arm around her waist holding her close, she curled his chest hair around her fingertips. Big People liked to call hobbits hairy for their feet but dwarves were in another league. Most hobbit men had little more than peach fuzz on their chests. Thorin had a bloody forest. His chest had its own beard, for pities’ sake. He nuzzled her frazzled curls with his sharp nose and she cuddled closer, his hardened muscles a sharp contrast to her soft curves, but he was warm and gentle all the same.

As contented as he was, Thorin was still concerned over her dream, his stubbornness slowly being eroded with worry. He did not want another wonderful night to be tainted for her. 

“Thorin,” he heard her whisper suddenly, more to his chest than him. 

“Yes?”

“About last night…” Bilba sighed defeatedly, “My nightmare…I-I just wanted to get through our honeymoon without panicking over something so foolish but-but I—it was bad.”

Thorin felt her pull closer and he held her tight, his heart thudding faster as he tried to think of what could have possibly shaken her so much. 

“I am here,” he said quietly, rubbing his thumb against her blanket-covered side. 

“It was that monster, the blond dwarf who attacked, he was in Bag End and he-he killed—“ Bilba sucked in a breath and Thorin grimaced, able to guess who she was talking about. “I found them, and he snuck up on me. He had-he was holding—“ Bilba choked, gasping harshly and Thorin wrapped his arms around her. Her whole body shook as she tried to get a hold of herself, brushing away tears with the palms of her hands. “I can’t lose you,” she sobbed. “You and the boys and the dwarves—I can’t be alone again.” 

“You won’t be,” Thorin reassured, cradling her head with one large hand, “Nothing in Middle Earth could tear me from you, no wizard nor dragon—not even five armies could wrench me from your arms.” 

Bilba sniffled and forced a smile. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

\---------------------------------------------------

“Mister Dwalin, where do babies come from?”

The mead the warrior had been drinking sprayed from his mouth. He coughed and sputtered, chest heaving as he collected himself. Dwalin glanced down to his side, where three little dwarflings were standing with their big round eyes staring up at him curiously. He had been eating lunch, watching over the wee ones while the other dwarves were out shopping or selling or conversing with the friendlier hobbits. 

Whose idea was it to leave the children with him? Because that bastard was going a taste of dwarvish iron right up their—

“Mister Dwalin?” Ori asked, her sparkling auburn eyes blinking up at him. 

“Ah…why do you ask?” he stuttered, trying to stall long enough to think of a lie that they would believe.

“Because Mister Bofur told Mister Dori that he should start knitting baby things for Uncle Thorin and Auntie Bilba,” Kíli supplied. 

“Because Uncle Thorin and Auntie Bilba are busy making babies this week,” Fíli added. 

Dwalin's face turned beet-red. 

It was one thing to hear raunchy jokes from any random dwarf, but hearing them about your best-friend, shield-brother, and king were quite another. 

So the warrior had a decision to make. 

Nip the joke in the bud like a loyal and respectful friend, or never let the bastard live it down? 

Tough choices in the life of Dwalin Fundinson. 

But the problem at hand had to be dealt with. 

“Babies…well, babies come from…” he struggled to think of something. Think! Dwarves-smiths-hobbits-farmers-Mahal-Yavanna—“The rock!” 

“What?” the three children gasped. 

“Yes, yes, baby dwarves are born from rock,” Dwalin said confidently, quite proud of himself for thinking of something so brilliant. “They are carved from a stone by their parents, and then Mahal blesses it, and it becomes a baby. That’s why dwarves are so strong, we come from the stone itself.” 

The young dwarves glanced at each other, the new information sinking in…it was very fascinating. 

And so the real where-do-babies-come-from talk was postponed, a crisis temporarily averted. No one would realize it for many years, until the damage was already done as Ori would tell the few friends she had back in Ered Luin (including a young and adorable Gimli, son of Gloin) who would tell others, convincing the next generation of dwarves that babies came from the rock and confusing historians of all races for ages to come. 

But returning to the present, it was the first day after Thorin and Bilba’s departure, and the company was busy trying to subvert itself in every way possible. 

Dori and Balin were determined to keep Bag End clean and cared for so the newly-weds could return to a cozy home. Nori and Bofur were resolved that the group should enjoy themselves and their new home as the dwarves that would actually be living there for a week. In writing that didn’t sound so bad, but the older dwarves knew that ‘enjoying themselves’ meant ale, food, and most likely destroying the plumbing. 

While the others worried over the home, Dwalin and Bombur debated how to care for the children. Dwalin was stubbornly holding the position that Fíli, Kíli, and Ori all needed to spend their days actively, playing in the yard or learning the basics of fighting (Bombur may have insinuated that Dwalin just wanted them to burn off their energy so he didn’t have to wrangle them, but nothing was ever proven). Bombur, a father of nearly a dozen, was convinced that the growing kids needed to be fed, and was more than happy to go along with the hobbit meal customs. And while the wee ones were more than happy to eat all of the delicious desserts Bombur conjured, at some point they crossed the line between ‘contentedly full’ and ‘nearly comatose’. 

Bifur was busy making toys for the hobbit children. 

So while the adults argued, Fíli, Kíli, and Ori busied themselves as children are wont to do. 

By pitting the adults against each other and reaping the benefits. 

“But Dori! Nori said we could play in Bilba’s study! It has a lot of neat books!” 

“But Mister Bombur! Dwalin made us play tag for hours! We’re starving and the only thing ready is the pie!”

“But Mister Dwalin! Mister Bombur is trying to make us have tea but we just want to go outside!” 

As they say, while the (responsible) adults are away, the kids will play.

\-------------------------------------------------------

It was the next morning when the happy couple met the landlady of their villa, a strong-backed and stout hobbit woman just a hair older than Bilba. She had long locks of flaming red curls bundled up in a tight bun, and acted as if she had much better things to do than to talk with newly-married pairs. An unmarried cousin of Hamfast’s was all Bilba had told Thorin, and he hadn’t put much thought into her at first, until she knocked on their door sometime between first and second breakfast with an axe in one hand and a scythe in the other. 

“Carnatia!” Bilba greeted joyfully, “Good morning! How are you doing?” 

“Fine, Mrs. Oakenshield,” she answered straightly, and both Bilba and Thorin did double-takes at her words. There were a few things about being married they were still working out, names being one of them, as dwarves did not carry surnames. “Just dropping by for the deposit. I need to haul these back to my brothers,” she said, lifting her ‘farming equipment’. “Don’t exactly need these now that spring is starting.” 

Bilba nodded and flitted back to get the coins, leaving Thorin alone with the unusual hobbit woman. She had neither the wild gleam in her eye of most Took lasses, nor the pristine finery of the Bagginses. She was rather threadbare, one of the few women who also did her own farming, and she certainly had a sense of seriousness about her, though not unfriendly. 

“Ms. Gamgee,” he nodded. Carnatia returned the gesture just as Bilba arrived with the money, and the woman was gone as quickly as she had appeared. Thorin stared thoughtfully at the door. 

“And how are we feeling this morning, Mr. Baggins?” Bilba chuckled. Thorin grinned and glanced back towards the door. 

“Quite fine, Mrs. Oakenshield.” 

“And what has you so curious as to our landlady?” Bilba asked inquisitively. 

If Thorin was honest, he wasn’t quite sure. But something nagged at him. Maybe dwarves and hobbits had more similarities than he thought. 

“Just thinking of the future.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Boys, wait for me!” 

“Well hurry up, Ori!”

The dwarflings dashed towards the forest, having left their sitters behind, and were set to explore the mysterious woods that Bilba loved to tell them about. 

“What are we doing here again?” Ori asked, slightly concerned about her brothers getting angry at her for sneaking off. But Fíli was here, and he was smart, right? He’d keep them safe. Besides, now she would get a chance to draw those pretty flowers and the cute bunnies Bilba had told her about. 

“We’re looking for elves, Ori,” Kíli answered, “Like Auntie Bilba did when she was little.”

“And we can climb some trees and explore,” Fíli added. Ori nodded and continued on behind the boys as the slowed near the forest edge. She had brought her little bag with her sketchbook, quills, ink, and a few snacks. Kíli had brought Fíli's toy sword. His nearly shoulder-length brown hair blew in the breeze, a few loose strands blowing free of his hair clasp. Fíli’s hair wasn’t much longer, but shined in the sunlight like gold. Ori’s bowl-cut had a few extra braids for her family, and her red-brown hair complimented her freckles. 

The three stared up at the tall trees, stretching to the sky. Kíli jumped up and down excitedly, glancing at the others with a bright grin before dashing into the woods, Fíli and Ori quickly following. When they got a little deeper they slowed, catching their breaths and gazing around the woods. 

“What do we do if we find elves?” Ori asked. 

“I don’t know,” Kíli answered. “Can we light them on fire?” 

“No, Kíli,” Fíli rolled his eyes. “It could spread to the trees and hurt the forest. And we didn’t even bring any flint.” 

“Awwww,” Kíli moaned. 

“Maybe I could draw them,” Ori offered. 

“And I could sneak up on them and cut their hair!” Kíli laughed. Ori pursed her lips. Leave it to boys to be violent. 

“Come on, this one looks good!” Fíli shouted farther ahead, staring upwards at a tall pine. He jumped and gripped a low branch, swinging his legs up to wrap around it and pulled himself up. Kíli ran up to join him, and the brothers grabbed each others' wrists to heave him up into the tree. 

“Come on, Ori!” Kíli yelled. 

“I think I’m good down here…”Ori mumbled. 

“But you can see everything up here!” Fíli shouted, climbing higher. 

“I don’t think dwarves were meant to be in trees.”

“Oh don’t be scared! Who knows? You might need to climb a tree someday. Could be handy!” Kíli cheered. Ori sighed. Fine. Maybe she could see some squirrels from up there. She raised her hands and the boys helped her up, and she had to admit it was nice up here. A warm breeze flew through the branches, and the kids sat on different branches against the trunk, snacking on some swiped cookies. 

“Fíli?” Kíli called. 

“Yeah?” 

“Why’s the sky blue?” 

“Dunno.”

“Hey look!” Ori whispered urgently. The boys turned from their seats, gazing towards where the girl was pointing. A tiny hedgehog was sniffing around in the grass. “It’s so adorable!” She grabbed her sketchbook and started drawing as the brothers watched it in boredom. 

“Can we take it home with us?” Kíli asked. 

“Probably not,” Fíli said sadly, “I don’t think Bilba wants animals in the smial. We don’t even know how to take care of a hedgehog.”

“Course we do! We could build it a little bed and feed it that jam Bilba likes.” 

“I still think it’s a no, Kíli.”

“We should still give it a name.” 

“Spike?” Fíli offered. 

“Nah,” Kíli said. “Sonic?”

“What? Hedgehogs aren’t fast, Kíli.” 

“Sebastian,” Ori declared. 

“Sebastian?” Kíli exclaimed. “That’s a human name.” 

“Well do you know any hedgehog names, Kíli?” Ori shot back.

“Squeak, Squeakers, Martin, Watson, I don’t know! I can’t speak hedgehog!” 

“Nobody can speak hedgehog,” Fíli said. 

“A wizard could!” Kíli argued. “And aren’t hedgehogs just baby porcupines?” 

“I’m pretty sure they’re their own thing.” 

“Whatever,” Kíli pouted. He leaned back against the trunk and looked up at the sky. Blinking at the sun, something caught his eye. “Hey, Fíli! Watch this!” The brunette grabbed a pinecone all snapped it off the branch. He bounced it in his hand, raising it high, before throwing it near the hedgehog. 

“Kíli!” Ori and Fíli yelled, Ori because she was angry that she hadn’t finished her drawing, Fíli because he was angry that Ori was angry.

The tiny beast raced away on its tiny legs, running like a little ball of pent-up frustration and cuteness. 

“Bye Sebastian!” Kíli shouted. 

“Maybe we should head back,” Ori sighed.

“But we just got here!” Kíli cried.

“Let’s just get down and walk some more,” Fíli decided. 

The three helped each other down and started walking again, enjoying their freedom. Dori and Nori were always protective, though Dori was more for keeping Ori by his side at all times while Nori wanted to teach her how to knife someone. Fíli and Kíli almost always had adult eyes on them, whether it be Bilba, Thorin, or Primula. Thorin spent every moment he could with them, saying they were princes, and had to be kept safe. 

They strolled for a while, Ori picking pretty flowers and Kíli having pretend sword-fights with trees. Fíli kept track of where the sun was, and what path they had taken. The forest was beautiful, the trees blooming and the grass greener than ever in the early spring sunlight. 

“Hey, Fíli! You wanna play Orcs and Warriors?” Kíli piped up. Fíli grinned and nodded. 

“What’s Orcs and Warriors?” Ori questioned. 

“One of us pretends to be an orc and the other is a warrior. We chase each other and fight,” Fíli explained. 

“Yeah! Okay, Ori and I will be the warriors, Fíli, you be the orc!” Kíli declared. 

“Fine. You better start running!” 

Kíli laughed and grabbed Ori’s wrist, pulling her along as they ran. 

“Hurry! Before he eats us!” 

“I’m gonna rip out your innards!” Fíli yelled in a growling orc-voice. “Come here!” 

Ori and Kíli ran as fast as they could, dashing around trees and over rocks. They had to pause to catch their breath, and could hear the older brother gaining on them. 

“The trees! Up the trees!” Kíli whispered. They scrambled up, scouting over the branches. “I think we lost him.” 

“Gotcha!” Fíli yelled, jumping to catch his brother’s ankle and pulling him down. 

“Kíli!” Ori shouted, dropping down from the tree and barreling into Fíli. 

“Ha! Who’s got who now, brother?” Kíli taunted as the two smaller dwarves held the blond down. 

“I give up! I surrender!” Fíli laughed, sitting up. Ori giggled as she shook her head, trying to shake out the twigs and pine needles that had gotten caught in it. 

“We need to do this more often, we should—“ Kíli stopped as a low noise passed through the forest, a groan like thick tree limbs bending in the wind. But the air was still. The dwarflings ducked their heads, staring out at the woods that surrounded them, searching for whatever might be there. 

“What’s making that noise?” Kíli whispered. The three barely breathed, barely moved, until realization hit Fíli and he leaned up, his blue eyes widened in both awe and fear. 

“It’s the trees,” he murmured. 

“What?” Ori said, disbelieving. 

“Do you remember the stories Bilba told us?” Fíli said softly to Kíli before turning to Ori, voice tense and troubled. “She said there was something in the woods that made the trees grow tall, and come alive.”

“Alive?!” Ori hissed. 

“Trees that could whisper,” Fíli said, almost to himself, in amazement. “Talk to each other. Even move.” He met the others’ eyes, each curious but frightened. 

“We should get back to Bag End,” Ori whispered. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do that,” Kíli agreed. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

The honeymoon continued on as most do for the rest of their week, full of love and jokes, stories and soft silences. Bilba discovered that Thorin was actually quite an adept cuddler after some practice, as long as his hair didn’t get in her mouth, and Thorin was introduced to the one tradition of hobbit honeymoons; that if ever there is an event with any sort of food in the name, the occasion will be full of it. And Bilba did not hold back. 

At first the dwarf king was fine with it (the honey was very tasty) until it got in his beard, mane, and chest hair (don’t ask how). 

Naturally, Bilba thought the sight of a mighty dwarf lord covering himself in olive oil and dish soap was one of the most hilarious sights of her life, and was quite content to sit back and commit the scene to memory rather than try to help end it. 

So Thorin thought it only fair to “accidentally” pour honey in her curls, both on her head and her feet, and the two spent the evening in the bath, attempting to figure out what could possibly save them, but at a much more relaxed speed. 

But as good things do, the honeymoon approached its end, and as they lay curled together under the covers, Bilba wondered if she might as well ask a question that had been on her mind for a very, very long time. 

“Thorin?” 

“Mmm?” he murmured sleepily. 

“Could you tell me about your nightmares?” 

Thorin blinked at her for a moment before his eyebrows popped up. She looked honest, concerned, but curious. 

Some little voice in his head became angry that she would ask him to share his darkest thoughts when he had left her to make her own choice, but she had always asked. Thorin was too stubborn to admit his own weak-spots on his own, this he knew. Bilba had only ever given him the push he needed to talk, and had never forced him to speak. Bilba could come forward with things over time, while he only buried them deeper. 

“Which ones?” he asked dryly. 

“The ones about the battle,” she said quietly, stroking his beard with a hand oh-so gently. His brow furrowed, but more from confusion than pain. 

“I’ve told you about Azanulbizar,” he answered. 

“You described the battle, not your nightmares. They can look very different, Thorin,” Bilba said, speaking from experience. Thorin swallowed hard.

While Thorin knew his wife was brave and adept and had seen her fair share of blood and violence, Azanulbizar was a horror one did not ‘move on’ from. She had been starved and tortured and he had the utmost respect for her, but he had seen fully-blooded dwarven soldiers who had weathered both and had been trained to endure worse, and even they broke down in terror and pain at the memory of that battle. And his mind only made it worse. 

“You would not want to know,” he replied lowly, pulling away slightly. It had been his fault that Bilba had suffered much, he could at least spare her the fate of knowing such revulsions. 

“We’re married, Thorin,” she said, “It’s my job to know.” 

Thorin turned his head, gazing at her caring face, and felt his resolve crumble. He sighed in defeat and tried to think of where to begin. 

“It always starts out happily,” he supposed, “When my grandfather and father were strategizing, it always sounded easy. We thought Khazad-dum would be empty, a few goblins or squatters at the most. We had lost Erebor, but we still had the power to take back Moria. It was an inspiring idea. The dwarves would have a kingdom again!” Thorin swallowed and grimaced, knowing how foolish they had been. “Our pride had been wounded and we wanted to have power again. Khazad-dum was supposed to be our ascension, our rise back to strength and influence. But it became our comeuppance.” 

The dwarf king took a deep breath and Bilba held his hand comfortingly, waiting for him to continue. 

“So many came. Warriors from Erebor, new recruits, even dwarves from the other clans who used to live in Moria. Bifur and his fellow Broadbeams stood by us, among many who wished to make history. They were good dwarves, but they were miners! Workers, not fighters. But everyone thought it would be so simple. A few weeks of marching and then have glory rained down upon us as we reopened the great kingdom. Young, old, experienced, naïve, every able-bodied dwarf wanted to have the fame of retaking Khazad-dum. My grandfather led them proudly. Straight to their deaths.”

He pulled her closer, needing to feel her there by his side. Bilba huddled close, tucking her head under his chin as he continued low and quiet.

“It was a slaughter. Many of us were trained and dangerous fighters, but the orcs were vicious. I just remember a haze of blood and armor. For every orc I slew three more would appear, more horrifying than the last. Dwarves being pierced by spears, swords, arrows. Young boys and aging grandfathers. Good dwarves massacred in droves. By the time our forces rallied, so many had fallen that surrendering seemed like a preferable fate than living with ourselves. But my grandfather was dead and my father had disappeared, and I had to avenge those we had lost.” 

Bilba could hear Thorin’s voice getting wet, almost breaking more than once, but he steeled himself and continued. 

“Everyone had lost someone. Fathers, brothers, sons—Dwalin and Balin lost Fundin, my cousin Dain lost his father, I knew dwarves who were left completely alone in the world. And for what? Nothing. Khazad-dum was lost, our numbers were cut to a fraction, and those who had survived would never be able to forget what had happened.” 

Thorin shivered and closed his arms around her, nuzzling her curls. Bilba could only hold him. 

“In my dream, it’s the little details that change. Someone who lived will fall, or die more brutally than they should. Sometimes Smaug is there, or we never rally at all. Once in a while, I’m the only one left in the end or Azog is holding someone else’s head. But the worst is when—when we lose. Because all I see is Dis and the women and children and the few men who didn’t go, sitting there waiting for us. Defenseless, struggling, starving. And I wake up wondering if all those who hated the Durin line were right. Maybe we are cursed.”

When Thorin finished, Bilba leaned up to look at him. There was anguish swirling in his eyes, guilt forming wrinkles in his brow, a grieving scowl contorting his features. 

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “None of this is your fault. You have only done right by your people, Thorin.” Bilba held his face in her hands and tried to make him understand. “A single dwarf can’t stop a dragon or an army. They blame you because they are pained and wounded. You are a good dwarf. A loving husband, a caring uncle, and nothing will ever change that.” 

Thorin smiled weakly and took her hands in his. 

“You are far too generous. How you hobbits can care so much is beyond me.” 

“How am I being generous?” Bilba retorted. “The odds have always been against you and yet you are still here. Your nephews are safe and cared for, and neither of us are alone anymore. Our life may not be perfect, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Bilba smiled at him, an honest, tender, adoring smile. 

“Not even a child?” he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. His throat felt tight just from uttering it, and her hurt look felt like a knife to his chest. Bilba clenched her jaw and breathed carefully, her own heart aching at the thought. Thorin regretted ever opening his mouth. 

“I have children, Thorin,” she finally answered. “Two little boys named Fíli and Kíli, and I love them more than all of Middle Earth. And they are mine as much as I am theirs.” 

Thorin smiled for the first time that night, though a little guiltily. Her face held firm and stubborn, until he pulled her in for a kiss. He let his shoulders relax and slump, and heard her breathe a little easier. 

Later, when Thorin laid awake long after Bilba had fallen into a peaceful sleep, he wondered if he had been right to leave out the detail he had. 

That sometimes it was Bilba’s head Azog was holding. 

Or Fíli’s. 

Or Kíli’s. 

But he was allowed to keep secrets, wasn’t he?

Was he? 

Something that Bilba had said still nagged at him. _“We’re married, Thorin. It’s my job to know.”_  
But had she told him all of her dream? Was it necessary that she did? 

And why did he feel so useless? 

\------------------------------------------------------

“You ever think about it, Nori?” Bofur asked him. 

“About what?” Nori replied taking a sip of his ale. The Green Dragon was bustling that evening, and the two dwarves had been lucky to get a table. Though ever since the Bachelor Party, the dwarves had been welcomed guests at the pub, mostly because the hobbits enjoyed watching the “Slightly Bigger People” get drunk when they were usually so proud of their endurance. 

“Marriage.”

Nori choked on his ale.

It spluttered from his mouth and he beat his own chest to get a hold of himself. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Bofur mused. 

“It’s not what you think,” Nori sighed. 

“You mean it’s not that you’re a traveling thief that hates the idea of being tied down,” Bofur said, “Both metaphorically and physically.”

“No, actually, it’s not,” Nori answered. 

“Then what?” the miner asked, taking a swig of his own mead. 

Their relationship had always been complicated. They had grown up together in the equally young Ered Luin. Bofur grew up desperately trying to not be a burden, working hard and keeping out of trouble, while Nori stole and both money and food to try and help his poor family. Where Bofur’s smile and charm could get him out of most situations, Nori had his wit and knives. Bofur’s family had never liked Nori, except maybe Bombur whom Nori always slipped cookies. And maybe Bifur liked him after Azanulbizar, because Nori helped him relearn how to carve (though that also taught Bifur that his and Nori’s uses for knives were very different). Dori only met Bofur once or twice when they were young, and thought the boy sweet when he wasn’t making raunchy jokes. 

But as time passed, they had grown apart. Nori started thieving professionally, taking contracts and jobs, while Bofur became a talented miner. Nori started traveling; he would be gone for months, even years once in a while, and would always return with wild stories of far-off lands. Bofur rarely left home, helping care for Bifur and Bombur’s children. 

So marriage was…a touchy subject. 

“It would be dangerous, Bofur. For both of us. If certain people found out…”

“That Thorin is living here and we’re helping hide him? Oh I imagine I’d be in a lot of trouble.”

“That’s not what I mean, Bo.”

“But it’s no different. We’re both in danger. Maybe you more than I, but it wouldn’t change much.”

“You don’t know the type of dwarves I do. I can’t put you at risk.” 

“And I can handle myself. Nori, we’ve had that talk before. I’m not afraid of—“

“Of someone coming after Bifur? Or your brother? Or his kids? Bofur, the ones I’m worried about aren’t the ones you could take. They’re the ones who don’t discriminate, don’t care, don’t have remorse. There are people who want me dead. There are places I can’t go anymore. There’s a reason I have more aliases than some of the Valar. I may be a thief, but I only take risks when they’re worth it, and when it comes to the dwarves I care about, they’re never worth it. I’m sorry, Bofur.”

“Aye, so am I,” the miner said, finishing his drink. The usually cheery dwarf stood up slowly, not meeting Nori’s eyes, and left the bar. 

The thief’s shoulders sagged when he heard the door shut. His life had never been easy. A thief’s life never was. He stole to take care of his family, but had to stay away from them to keep them safe. It was one reason he risked spending time with Dwalin. The guardsman could arrest him on a whim, knowing full-well how many warrants were on Nori’s head (at least the ones in Ered Luin), but he was one of the few dwarves Nori never had to worry about. Dwalin was one of the biggest dwarves in Middle Earth, and his scars scared away most of the dwarves who would try to start fights. 

And if Nori was feeling the pain from forcing himself to stay away from those he cared about, he knew Dwalin could understand a little of what that was like, even though his love was taken from him, rather than avoided out of terrible necessity. 

All Nori wanted was security, for Dori and his little sister who he loved more than life, and for Bofur, just so they could have a chance at life together. 

\----------------------------------------------------

_“A good dwarf. A loving husband, a caring uncle, and nothing will ever change that.”_

The words still rang in his mind. They were loving, adoring, devoted words, but Thorin couldn’t help but feel something was missing. He was a dwarf, a husband, and uncle. But not a king. That had changed. Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, was supposed to be King Under the Mountain, but he didn’t have a mountain, and that made him…nobody, really. 

His people had rejected him for his failure. Maybe the tragedies hadn’t been his fault, but they were his responsibility. He was crownless; the line of Durin no longer sat upon a throne but in a hobbit hole, one void of all the gold and gems his forefathers had prided themselves on. He wished he could show Bilba and the boys Erebor. The enormous caverns of gems and the grand halls of stone. She deserved everything for what she had done. Taking care of him, his heirs and nephews. For giving them a home at no cost and a shoulder to cry on for nothing in return. 

They had been driven out of Erebor by Smaug, Khazad-dum by orcs, and Ered Luin by their own people. 

And she had taken them in. A complete stranger with two small boys, each angry and mourning and needy. 

Thorin knew he wasn’t the best at first impressions, nor the easiest dwarf to get along with, but Bilba had taken all of his trust issues and rough edges in stride. She mothered Fíli and Kíli when they lost their own, feeding them and clothing them and playing with them. 

Maybe they really were hers now. 

But back then they weren’t. They were ever-growing mouths to feed with an uncle she knew nothing about except that his own friends had seen fit to try to kill him. At her own risk, she offered her home and hearth. 

If anyone deserved to be treated like royalty, it was Bilba. She should have been a queen, a woman of power and influence, enough to help the whole world. But he could not give her what he so wanted. He had nothing to offer but himself. No treasures or power, not even a child of her own, just dangerous enemies and extreme cultural differences. 

Thorin wasn’t a king. He wondered if he’d ever have the chance to be. If he wasn’t that, then who was he? 

_A loving husband. A caring uncle. A good dwarf._

And that was a lot more than nobody. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Well, I think this trip was well-worth it. It’s good to see Thorin so happy,” Balin said contentedly. The hearth blazed well, filling with Bag End with warmth. Balin rested with his brother in the sitting room, enjoying the quiet peace. The children and other dwarves had already gone to bed, and Thorin and Bilba would return the next day. In Ered Luin, the sound of hammers and pick-axes would still be echoing from the mines and towns, but the Shire was serene and still. Balin was not an old dwarf, but he was not the youthful academic he once was. After the active life he had led, he was determined to relish moments like this.

“Aye, and Bilba is a good woman. They’re quite the pair,” Dwalin agreed. 

“I wasn’t sure he would ever marry. He never seemed interested,” Balin smiled to himself, “And yet he falls in love with the unlikeliest of creatures. Perhaps all any of us needed was a kind hobbit for company.” 

Dwalin didn’t say anything, just snorting in amusement. Balin always did love to wax poetic. 

“If Thorin could find a wife here, perhaps there’s hope for us as well.” 

Dwalin’s ear caught the point of his brother’s words, and he glared at the white-haired dwarf. 

“You want me to marry one of them? I am but halfway through mourning Dis and you want to pair me off to a wee halfling lass?!”

Balin sighed. He knew very well that the traditional mourning period for dwarven spouses was three years, and many went longer. Many dwarves never remarried and never looked to. But he did not want his little brother to be alone, not after so many years of watching from afar. 

“I am not saying that you should stop mourning Dis. I am not saying that you need remarry. But think of the future—do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?” 

Dwalin only glowered, baring his teeth. 

“I’d rather that than a false marriage. It would never be the same—“

“Of course it would not be the same, but that doesn’t mean it would be a terrible fate! Think of yourself, think of Dis! Would she want you to live your life alone? She was able to remarry, to continue on with her life, and she had two sons!” Balin fumed, irritated at his little brother, and he would always be that, no matter how big he got.

“She lost her husband to an accident—I lost her to murderers. I will never be able to ‘continue on’ so long as those bastards are free. And even if I was, do you really think any of these hobbit women would have me? Most won’t look me in the eye out of fear, and the others think me a cute beast for them to pet and tame.” And Dwalin looked like a beast as he spoke, his nostrils flaring as his lips curled to a sneer. His thick hair practically bristled, and his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

“You think Bilba was not scared of Thorin the first time they met?” Balin reasoned, “A man twice her weight and battle scarred? And now look at them. Honeymooning newlyweds with the whole village supporting them. Don’t think them so judgmental when you do not give them the chance to understand you.” 

“Bilba was forced to spend time with Thorin. He needed her, and they both knew it,” Dwalin spat, “If I even tried to get close to one of them, I’d be chased off with pitchforks and torches. The Men think us dumb work-mules and the hobbits see us as dangerous war-mongers. None of them would even consider me, too scared I might break them as soon as kiss them.”

Balin stood and shook his head, tired of arguing when he knew it wouldn’t do any good. The dwarven stubbornness ran strong through Dwalin, even when it came to his own pain. 

“Fine,” he raised his hands in defeat, “Stay alone and angry. But do not forget that we live long lives. I hope yours is a happy one.” 

Balin stormed away from his brother, through the halls and to his room, where he could only mourn his brother’s rage, and that the only person immune to his talent with words was the very person he wanted to help most. 

Dis would have known what to say. 

Maybe Bilba would too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a horribly long wait but now that my computer is back to its good ol'self, chapters should be coming more frequently.  
> Now all I have to do is stall until the next movie comes out so I can decide what the heck to do with the plot.


	22. We're Better Off Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili chapter!

The happy couple’s return was a celebration for all, though it heralded the dwarves’ departure. Thorin and Bilba were greeted with wedding presents and a surprisingly clean smial (and if all ten dwarves had rushed to clean it the hour before the pair arrived, that was nobody’s business but their own). The dwarves were packed as well, begrudgingly ready to get back on the road. The children mourned their mutual separation, but goodbyes were said and done within days. It had been a wonderful stay, but the lives of the dwarves were not getting any better standing around. They were off, and the four acclimated to their new state of normalcy. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Fíli’s sword sliced through the crisp air. It was aging and splintering in places, and a little on the small size after more than a year of his growing. He knew he should probably get a new one soon. 

The Shire was quiet, as usual. At least it was quiet to him. Ered Luin had always been a loud place. Clanging from the forges, _tink-tink-tinks_ from the mines. The normal, noisy bustle of the city market just a few blocks from his front door. Dwarves were raucous, boisterous creatures by nature, and they had all been living in close quarters. Loud was normal, loud was the only home Fíli had ever known. In comparison, the Shire was virtually void of sound. 

It had its noisier places; the Market, the Took and Brandybuck smials, but Bag End? Or even the backyard? 

Fíli knew that there was a chorus of sounds that could waft through the even the most silent places of the Shire, if one bothered to listen. But they were so different from the blaring noises and constant racket he had been raised in. There were no crescendos of metal being molded, or melodies of industrial creation. The only songs to be heard in the land of the hobbits were those of nature. 

Birds chirped and tweeted near-constantly, and the wind was versed in all sorts of music. The trees creaked and groaned to each other, and the squirrels squeaked in their own little language. Nature could roar if it wanted, but it never did, not in the Shire. Compared to Ered Luin, the music hear barely rose above a whisper. 

Of course, he usually had Kíli chattering non-stop in his ear every second of the year, so the hushed moments were only after his brother had gone to bed. 

His swung his sword again, meeting no resistance. 

He loved his brother, with all his heart he loved his baby brother, but Mahal above—

Kíli drove him insane sometimes. 

It had been worse in Ered Luin, having to watch out for him every moment of the day. Because Kíli was younger and smaller and his little brother, and Fíli was responsible. He had to make sure that Kíli didn’t get lost in the tight turns of the village, that he didn’t get picked on by the older kids for whatever reason, that he didn’t do something utterly stupid. Fíli was the eldest, the heir, the Crown Prince. He had to be the accountable one, the polite and well-mannered one, the one who had been training to be a prince and a king since before Kíli was even born. 

Unlike Kíli, who was the little brother, the spare, the happy-go-lucky kid who only had to pay attention half the time and just needed to raise his voice for every adult to come running. 

While Fíli had to prove he was tough to Dwalin, diplomatic to Balin, perfectly behaved and princely to Uncle Thorin, not to mention kind, strong, just, brave, clever, and not even his own mother acted like a mother to him, because she always had to work to keep food on the table and had to speak to the people and discuss politics with Thorin and she was never there when he needed her, on those dark nights after a mining accident, when all he could think about was his own father, but no, she had to help with the wounded, and he had to watch out for Kíli. 

And his _father_. 

The father Kíli had never met, would never meet, and Fíli was losing memory of every day. 

His father, who was not tough like a warrior, or smart like a diplomat, or special in any way. Just a blond miner from the Blue Mountains. Just a regular fellow who married a princess and had a couple of kids and died when they needed him most. 

Fíli violently threw his sword to the ground. 

It wasn’t fair. 

None of it. 

Not them forcing all those responsibilities on his shoulders but never giving him any freedom, not them telling him he had to be perfect when they were all so flawed and he wasn’t perfect, would never be perfect, and obviously wasn’t good enough. And not his parents dying and leaving him with even more pressure, not them getting thrown out, or living as the only dwarves for miles around for fear of death, or his stupid, annoying, oblivious younger brother being the only person in the whole world who treated him as Fíli and not the heir or the Crown Prince or the—

“Fíli? Would you like some lemonade?” Bilba called happily, strolling out Bag End’s backdoor with a tray heavily laden with treats in her hands. She was smiling brightly as ever, her honey-brown curls bouncing with her steps while delicious smells radiated from the biscuits, cookies, and scones she had baked. 

Auntie Bilba, whose first real conversation with him was literally to say that he didn’t need to watch out for Kíli every moment of the day, that she and Thorin would take care of everything and he didn’t need to worry. She made them treats, gave them toys, and played with them whenever she could, which was often. Fíli’s heart lightened as she neared, setting the tray down on the small outdoor table and joining him. 

“Oh Fíli, did your sword break?” she asked with genuine concern. He nodded embarrassedly. His throat felt tight and his eyes were puffing against his will, but Fíli swallowed hard and forced a small, guilty smile. Bilba settled to her knees and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, we can go to the toy stalls later and get new ones for you and Kíli, but how about you take a break for now and we have a snack, yeah?” He nodded again forcefully, and followed her back to the treats. She kneeled down to him again and glanced at his reddening face. “Fíli? Are you alright?” she asked worriedly. 

Fíli blinked at her, his jaw clenching in vain as he tried to hold himself together. He sniffled desperately and his lip quivered. 

And suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her. 

The floodgates opened and Fíli bawled into her shoulders. Bilba gasped in surprise and pulled him close. Tiny hands balled fists of her dress fabric, and the hobbit rocked him gently back and forth. Hot, wet tears formed dark spots on her shoulder. 

“Fíli? Oh my little bumble bee,” she whispered, biting her lip. His body shook from the sobs, the crying physically hurting his throat. Bilba held him through it, massaging his back. What else could she do until he was able to talk? 

Thorin had taken Kíli to the forge earlier. The younger brother had been eager to get out of the house. Fíli had decided to stay home. He hadn’t even been upset when he decided, but he had felt a little on the low side. 

As his weeping slowed and quieted, Bilba ran her fingers through his hair. Fíli sniffled and closed his eyes tight, shutting out the whole world. There was nothing but Bilba and her soft hands and sweet smells and she would make everything better. 

“Come on, love, let’s get some food,” she comforted, rubbing his arms. Wiping his eyes, Fíli nodded, and they picked a few bits off the tray. Bilba guided him towards the bench and they sat with their little plates, not eating. “Fíli?” 

He didn’t say anything for a while, staring at the cookies. 

Bilba sighed as her shoulders sagged in defeat. Dwarven stubbornness. 

“I remember when I was your age,” Bilba said conversationally, trying a different approach. “I always had trouble making friends. None of my cousins wanted to play with me. All the Tooks thought I was too prim and proper, and all the Bagginses thought I was too wild. Quite a pickle.” Bilba glanced at the lad out of the corner of her eye as she took a sip of her lemonade. “I was very embarrassed, but I refused to close myself off. My parents encouraged me to look elsewhere. Hamfast was shy as a boy, but loyal once I helped him open up. Amaranth Brandybuck and her sisters were very sweet, as well. When my cousins saw I was no different from any other hobbitling, they were happy to befriend me. I forgave them easily, but I never really forgot what the mess taught me.” 

Fíli gazed up at her, his brow furrowed with both concern and curiosity. She cocked an eyebrow and her lips quirked upwards. 

“Sometimes your family can be stupid.” 

Fíli looked back down at his plate and sniffed. 

“Uncle Thorin used to be a jerk,” he admitted. 

“I can see that,” Bilba said. 

“I’m the heir to the throne, so I had to train every day. If messed up, he and the others got mad and disa-disap—“

“Disappointed?” 

“Yeah. And then Kíli was born and I had to take care of him all day.”

“You never got to do anything you wanted?” Bilba asked softly. Fíli shook his head. 

“Papa had to mine and the others worked in the forge. Sometimes Uncle Thorin and Mister Dwalin would travel to find work and would be gone for a long time, and Mister Balin would teach me. But Kíli was so little he never had to.” 

Fíli hated the idea of pouting, but that didn’t change the fact that he was. 

“That night, when we had to leave…” Fíli started, twiddling his fingers a little nervously, “When we got on the eagles and were flying here, all I could think was that I’d have to train even harder. I was scared and angry because we were stuck with Uncle Thorin and he never cared if I was okay, just if I was doing everything right. And no matter how hard I’d ever tried—it was never enough.” 

Bilba blinked at the boy. She had never heard about this part of Thorin before. He had been cold and distrusting when they had first arrived, but he had never seemed anything but protective of the boys since day one. 

“And now we’re here and we’re safe and everything is great but…I’m getting older and he’s going to want to start training again, and Kíli’s just going to sit back and turn into a hobbit!” Fíli shouted in frustration. Face red with anger, Fíli glared at the ground, and Bilba wondered how long these thoughts had been swimming in the boy’s head. 

“Fíli, why would Kíli turn into a hobbit?” 

“Because he’s tiny!” Fíli barked.

“What?” Bilba half-laughed. 

“Well,” Fíli said, wringing his wrists, because he really didn’t want to offend his Auntie Bilba, but… “He’s young. He’s growing up here. What’s he going to remember about dwarves? What’s he going to want to remember? But here, he’s happy and he’s having fun, and he doesn’t need to learn how to fight or be a prince or be a dwarf!” 

Bilba opened her mouth to argue. She did. But the boy had a point. 

Bilba and Kíli had always been close; it was part of the reason she was so eager to defend of him. Like Fíli had said, Kíli had spent less time among dwarves, fewer years becoming suspicious or rough or hardened. For all that Fíli had against his uncle, the blond was still much more like him than Kíli. The younger was free-spirited and curious. He could have been mistaken for a Took if not for his ears and feet. But Fíli was a dwarf, a dwarfling, but a dwarf. On their very first morning in Bag End, it had been Fíli on his feet and ready to run if need be. Kíli had always been more trusting and friendly and readable, while Fíli had been taught for years to be cautious but polite. 

Since the beginning, the pressure on Fíli to be dependable, from both his uncle and himself, had been noticeable. Bilba had hoped it had been a phase, an emotional reaction to everything that had happened. But since when had things ever been easy?

“You’re not wrong, Fíli,” she agreed, and he turned up towards her in surprise. “Kíli will grow up differently from you. And maybe he will be more like a hobbit than a dwarf. And I agree that it was very unfair for you to have so many burdens when you were so little. But I think Thorin pushed you so hard, not because he didn’t care if you were okay, but so that you could take care of yourself in the future. And maybe the reason he stopped your training and hasn’t started training Kíli is because he wants to make up for the time you lost. Maybe Thorin doesn’t want Kíli to have to grow up as fast as you did, and for you to have the childhood you missed.” 

Fíli folded his arms. 

“Still doesn’t make it right.”

“No, but it makes it a little better. Look, why don’t I arrange a few playdates, hm? You can have a little time away from your uncle and brother, and maybe make some new friends.”

“More hobbit friends?” he growled.

“Oh, Fíli,” she sighed, shaking her head sadly, “I know you must be lonely here. I can’t empathize exactly, but I know a little of what it feels like. And I know what it’s like not wanting to be around your family, but we have to work with what we’ve been given.”

Fíli’s head tilted to the side, weary but thoughtful.

“I hated Mister Dwalin for a long time, too.”

Bilba stared at the boy. 

“Why?” she asked cautiously. 

“Thought he was trying to replace Papa.”

The hobbit let out a breath. That made a lot of sense. It was rare among hobbit, for them to be widowed before old age, but the idea of remarrying was a daunting one. Hobbits cared about families more than most else in their lives, and how a new person could come into an already-formed one as anything but a newborn faunt was intimidating. Bilba had seen it happen. The Fell Winter had left plenty of couples cut in half. Those who hadn’t had children remarried sooner or later, not wanting to let the pain run their life. But for those who had kids…it was difficult to say the least. Even if the new spouse was kind and friendly and honest, it often took months, if not years for even the most loving hobbitling to call them mama or papa, if they ever decided to. Bilba couldn’t imagine it being any easier for dwarf children, when their culture put so much value into bloodlines. 

“Mister Dwalin had always been jealous of Papa,” Fíli continued, “After the accident, he started getting closer to her. I thought he was trying to trick her while she was mourning.” 

“But?” Bilba prodded anxiously. 

“But he didn’t. She was really sad for a long time, but got better after Kíli was born, and then she just carried on for a while. They started courting later, and I got really angry because dwarves were supposed to loyal and everything, but…he made her happy.” Fíli smiled to himself. “Life was hard, but he could cheer her up. And I was happy that she was happy.”

“He’s a good dwarf,” she agreed. 

“I miss Ori and the other kids, too,” he admitted. 

“I can only imagine, love,” Bilba sympathized, “But when Ori gets older, she’ll be able to visit more, and maybe young Gimli too, one day.”

“You think we’ll ever be able to live with dwarves again?” he murmured, not meeting her eye. 

“Fíli, my bee, I’d bet on it,” Bilba said confidently, her hands on her hips. Fíli grinned at the sight of the stubborn hobbit, but the smile quickly turned south. 

“So I am going to have to be a prince,” he said quietly. 

“It’s not the worst job in the world, Fíli,” Bilba said, stopping herself from rolling her eyes. “And I’m sure you would be wonderful at it.” Fíli nodded in irritated agreement, until an idea came to mind. 

“But maybe I wouldn’t have to be!” he cried. “I’m prince because I’m the heir, but if you two have a baby, it will be next in line!”

“Wait, Fíli—“ Bilba tried to cut in despondently, her own pain sprouting at his words. 

“But it’s perfect, Auntie Bilba! I mean that’s what Bofur said, right? You two spent the week making babies!” 

Bilba immediately turned bright red, both from embarrassment and shame. Damn that dwarf! But how was she supposed to explain this? 

“No, we didn’t,” she said softly. Fíli stared at her for a moment and scoot closer. 

“Oh, okay,” he said, “So when are you?” 

Bilba clenched her jaw and swallowed her sadness. There was no point in putting all of her problems on an already-troubled child. 

“I don’t know if we’ll ever have a baby, Fíli,” she muttered sorrowfully. “I’m sorry.”

Fíli watched Bilba closely. She seemed upset, but also not. He didn’t like it when she was upset. 

“That’s okay,” he said, dropping the subject. “Being a prince isn’t that bad.” A tiny hand patted hers. “And when I’m prince, you’ll be queen!” he smiled, trying to cheer her up. 

“Quite right, Fíli, quite right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Now come on, I made your favorite,” she declared with faked joy, pointing back at the tray.

“Honey Buns?!” 

“For my fluffy little bumble bee.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Uncle Thooooriiiiinnnn! This is boring,” Kíli declared, legs swinging from his perch atop an anvil. 

“You’re the one who wanted to come to the forge today,” Thorin answered, rather amusedly. 

“And it was a mistaaakkkkeee!” Kíli bemoaned. Lying back on the anvil and shaking his limbs in desperation, the lad seriously regretted his decision. Bag End was much more fun. This place didn’t even have toys! 

At least not ones that weren’t “dangerous in the hands of children.”

“One that will make you spend the rest of your day here, unless you would like to make yourself useful and run this frying pan up to the Green Dragon?” 

“I’ll do it!” he shouted, jumping down and grabbing the pan. 

“Do you know the way, lad?” 

“Yep!” 

“Well, don’t wander off!” Thorin shouted as the boy burst through the door. He shook his head. 

He was probably going to regret this later. 

But Kíli was already out the door and continuing on his way through the bustling market. He passed the butcher’s and the candle-maker’s and lingered a bit in front of the toy shop before rushing forward. He loved running. It was freeing. 

If Kíli was honest with himself, he was pretty sure he wasn’t a normal dwarf. The other dwarves, the ones in Ered Luin, had always preferred living underground. Kíli could never understand it. He loved the open air, the forests, and the animals. He could never imagine holding a mining pick like his father. Not that he’d ever met the dwarf. 

But he ran on, past the cheerful hobbits with their chickens and pigs, straight to the Green Dragon. The pub was always a friendly place, and during the day it was even bright and active. Young workers were cleaning and cooking, customers were chewing and chatting, and the tiny dwarf was greeted with many fine ‘hellos’ and ‘how do you dos’. 

Kíli scurried in and searched for the kitchen. 

“What are you doing here, little one?” a booming voice asked. It was an exultant voice, and loud, though nowhere near as deep as Uncle Thorin’s. Kíli jumped at the sound and snapped up to where it came from. A grinning, round hobbit who was heaving a sack of potatoes was peering at the lad. 

“Bringing this pan back for my uncle,” Kíli answered, lifting the cast-iron as high as he could with his wee muscles. 

“I was just going to ask if he’d finished with that! There’s a good lad,” the hobbit said, scooping the pan up. “Tell your uncle I’m mighty fond of his work, okay lad? Now you best be off.” Kíli nodded and beamed, dashing back out the door. He was one to be bored easily, and he had energy to burn. 

“Well, isn’t he lively today?” he heard one of the lasses laugh behind him. 

“Aye, I hope he’s careful though, might break one of the others if barrels them over!” 

The thought startled Kíli, and he nearly tripped over his own feet. Him? Breaking others?

No one had ever said that about him before. He’d always been the one they were worried about. 

He wasn’t that much smaller than the other dwarf kids had been. Just younger, and he hadn’t hit a growth spurt in a while, and so what? It didn’t matter. He was faster than any of those shale-heads anyways. 

The lad slowed in his stride, glancing up at the hobbits. They really were smaller than the dwarves, and not nearly as tough. Their feet were thick, sure, but dwarves were burly, thick-skinned, and stocky. 

Well, most. Kíli had always been on the leaner side but—but that wasn’t the point!

He had to admit it was weird hearing those things for more than one reason. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard things whispered behind his back. Dwarves didn’t have the best ears, but once again, Kíli was the exception. He heard every word, like when they said “He’s just like his father”, or “That boy is going to eat them out of house and home,” or his personal favorite “Wee thing shouldn’t run so fast! Poor boy is going to hurt himself!” 

Oh yes, the idea of a fragile dwarf, a being wrought from the stone and still easily breakable, that was a great thing to hear every other day. Because it didn’t matter how he could out run every other lad (he was a natural sprinter), or that he could spot a robin farther than many of the adult hunters, or that he had one of the best singing voices in the village. 

Actually, that last one might not have helped matters…

But no, despite all these talents he still had to be coddled. Oh, he was the younger brother, he was the spare, he was little and tiny and naïve and everyone had to protect him. He couldn’t train with Fíli, he couldn’t go anywhere unless there was someone to take him, and he could barely step outside the house without someone mentioning his dead father. 

You know, the one he’d never met. 

They said it like he wasn’t aware of the fact.

But did he let it get to him? No. 

He had Fíli, and he had his mama, and Mister Dwalin was soon going to be a new papa, and if he was being really honest he would think he much preferred a warrior to a miner for a teacher. 

Because no one worried about Mister Dwalin. He was the best! The biggest! Even bigger than Uncle Thorin! He could show Kíli how to be just like him, and everyone would be proud of him. 

Especially Uncle Thorin. 

The lad couldn’t remember the first time he’d met Uncle Thorin; the dark dwarf had always been popping in and out of their lives. But Kíli knew he was important. He was their king! And Kíli was a prince. 

But that didn’t matter, seeing as he wasn’t the Crown Prince. It was Fíli that Thorin paid attention to. Even here, in the land of the hobbits, Thorin trusted Fíli with more. 

Which is why he’d asked to come to the forge today. 

But he hadn’t counted on it being so boring. 

He knew he should have stayed with Bilba. She treated the boys equally, and she loved them for who, not what, they were. Bilba even taught them elvish! Kíli did feel a little guilty for keeping such a secret from his uncle, but he also relished the idea that he could do such a thing. And hey, know thy enemy, right? 

But it was more than that. Bilba was there for them, Bilba cared for them. Kíli had grown used to the image of Mister Dwalin popping into his head whenever someone said “Papa”, but he had noticed something else creeping into his mind. 

As he ran through the Market, he saw families, whole and large and growing. Hobbit men and women, young and old, parents and children. Brothers. Uncles. Aunts. 

Mothers. 

And Kíli swallowed, trying to forget how many times he’d had to correct himself before speaking. Too often had he been close to saying “Mama” instead of “Bilba, or “Mommy” rather than “Auntie”. He couldn’t slip up on something like that. Fíli would be furious. And Uncle Thorin? The dwarf was a father-figure, but Kíli had never thought of him as “Papa”. 

But Fíli held on to the past so much more than Kíli. Probably because he had a longer past. When Kíli had hung on to Mister Dwalin’s every word, Fíli had tried to interrupt him. When Kíli had pushed his mother towards the warrior, Fíli shoved back. Fíli loved Bilba, but he’d never call her mother. 

While Kíli had to watch his tongue every day to make sure he didn’t. 

The dwarfling reached the forge after a few minutes, slipping in silently. Whatever his grief with his uncle, he still loved him. He still wanted to impress him. 

“Uncle Thorin, how do make a sword?” he asked suddenly. Thorin glanced up at him from the horse-shoe he was cooling, brows up in mild surprise. But a small smile grew on his face and he gestured Kíli over with a swoop of his arm. 

“I suppose it depends on what type of sword you’re making…” 

\-----------------------------------------------

“Fíli! Bilba! We’re hooommmeeee!” Kíli shouted as Thorin pushed in the door to Bag End. Carrying a wrapped bundle, he rushed through the halls in search of his brother and aunt.

“And we come bearing gifts,” Thorin added with tired content. Kíli had demanded a race up Bag Shot Row. Thorin, weary from the day’s work and weighed down with the money and tools he didn’t feel comfortable leaving at the forge, was no match for the bubbling ball of energy that was his nephew, even when he was carrying his mysterious bundle. 

“Fíli! Fíli, look!” Kíli called when he spotted his brother rounding a corner. Bilba was behind him, grinning in amusement at the excited child. Fíli watched as his brother quickly unwrapped his ‘gifts’ and gasped. 

Two new swords. 

Smooth and strong from oak wood, and a little large so the boys could grow into them. They were expertly crafted, shining in the light that peered through the windows, and on each grip was a special insignia. Their names. 

“Kíli, where did you…”

“Uncle Thorin took me to the toy stand after work since I was so good! And then he carved our designs on them!” 

“Because he was good?” Thorin snorted quietly to Bilba, though Fíli could still hear them, “The lad refused to move an inch until I got him and his brother new swords.” 

“Perfect timing, then,” Bilba winked. 

Fíli stared at the swords, dumbfounded. His brother? His annoying, naïve, carefree baby-brother had fought against Uncle Thorin? Just so he could have a better toy?

“And Uncle Thorin says when we’re older we can make our own! Out of metal and everything!” Kíli bounced up and down, overjoyed. He really would be a warrior one day! 

“That’s wonderful, Kíli,” Bilba said, hiding her worry for the future of her mother’s china. “Why don’t you two go play outside while Thorin and I get supper ready?” 

Both lads nodded and rushed outside, almost barreling the adults over. Thorin chuckled. 

“I hope they never grow up.” 

“Sometimes I think they already have,” Bilba replied. 

\---------------------------------------------

Fíli and Kíli were sitting in the grass, hands out behind them, relaxing. They had played and tumbled and were just waiting for their guardians to call them in. The air had cooled off as clouds rolled through the sky. It was odd, to them, having nothing to do. No chores (Bilba wanted to wait until they were a little older), nothing coming after them (as far as they knew), and no worries (Fíli was pretty sure the elvish translation was _“hakuna matata”_ but he needed to check). 

The two brothers lounged in the shade of the large oak tree at the far edge of Bag End’s backyard. As the serene sounds of the Shire floated around, a small mountain of rocks lied eternal. The memorial had not been moved or disturbed in the months since its creation. 

“Do you think she watches over us?” Kíli asked his older brother, gazing at the stone monument to their mother. 

“She always did, Kíli. Mamas have eyes in the back of their heads, and they’re always watching,” Fíli said softly, wistfully, as he remembered the time he had run off into the woods. He had hoped to disappear. Run away and start his own life after he finally became too miserable. The lad thought no one would notice him missing for hours. 

And yet his mother had come sprinting after him in minutes, tears in both their eyes. Dis had hugged him and squeezed him and begged him to never scare her like that again. She couldn’t lose him, couldn’t lose her little flint, not after his Papa…

“Yeah. She always did looked out for us,” Kíli agreed, as the memory of her twisting Thorin’s arm came flooding back. She had literally twisted it, until her brother had relented and given her younger son his first self-defense lesson. He had been begging for a few days, and she had vouched for him. Saying he was old enough, that he was ready, when no one else was. 

Dis wasn’t always there, but she was there when they needed her. 

“I miss her.” 

“Me too.”

\-------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Thorin and Bilba were attempting to give the boys a bath. 

It was going poorly. 

“Fíli! Stop fighting!” 

“Kíli, let go of that!” 

“It’s just a bath!” 

“Get that out of your mouth!” 

The boys were having a blast. 

But after a long and difficult struggle, they were clean and the adults thought they could relax. 

They were wrong. 

“BOYS—!” Bilba shrieked. 

“Fíli, Kíli, put your towels back on!” 

The lads ran. 

Out of the bathroom, out of Bag End, and into the Shire, as naked as the day they were born. 

“Run, Kee! Or they’ll catch us!” 

“I’m runnin’, I’m runnin’!”

And that was the day the entirety of Hobbiton saw two tiny, naked dwarflings running through the village. They somehow managed to make it all the way to the Market, before being cornered by Primula and driven into the forge by their guardians. The brothers currently hold the record for most hobbits flustered in a single day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think!
> 
> I want to thank Shivi for her lovely, amazing art, and I pray she never stops.


	23. Close Your Eyes and Cover Your Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hobbit cursing!  
> Lobelia!  
> Dwarvish-iron blocking!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't remember the tune to "That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates", now would be a great time to get on youtube and remind yourself.

Bilba woke to a small, soft hand patting her face. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, before settling on the wee lad looking up at her from the floor. Kíli smiled, hair mussed from sleeping, and made a tiny wave of his hand. Bilba smiled back lazily, too comfortable under the fluffy covers to move. 

“Yes, Kíli?” she asked quietly. 

“Fíli made breakfast and we ate already. Can we play outside?” he answered, his voice low to not wake the other dwarf in the room, who was facing the other direction. 

“Well, I suppose,” she yawned. “A bit early, isn’t it?” 

Kíli nodded, “Yeah, but it’s raining!” 

Bilba’s brow furrowed and she slowly sat up. Glancing towards the window, her ears finally picked up the soft pitter-patter of the rain outside. The sky was a gloomy gray, though it wasn’t that dark out. The early-morning fog was beginning to dissipate, but she heard a low boom thunder in the distance. 

“Oh bother,” she sighed. 

Hobbits, as fond as they were of nature, did not like the rain. Children, perhaps, found it fun to play in, but their parents would always drag them back inside before they caught a cold. Rain did mean a day off for farmers, but it also meant that things that needed doing could not be done. 

Hobbits understood the necessity for rain. They needed it to grow their crops and fill the river for plumbing. But hobbits could be as stubborn as dwarves in some aspects, and a dislike for rain was one of them. The rain was cold, it was dreary, and every hobbit’s shoulders would sag when they saw dark clouds. They folded their arms and prepared for a boring day inside their smials. 

For dwarves, rain was just a peculiarity. They were used to a roof over their heads, whether they be under a mountain or in a mine. So when it rained, Fíli and Kíli were fascinated. 

“Go ahead,” she told the boy, “But come back and change your clothes before you get soaked!” 

Kíli darted from the room, and Bilba crawled deeper beneath the blankets. She curled against Thorin’s back, and he hummed as he woke, turning to face her. He threw a warm arm over her and Bilba buried her face in his neck. 

“I’m going to go ahead and apologize in advance,” he heard her muffled voice say. 

“For what?” he asked. Thorin always felt it safer to ask about the odd things his wife said, whether it be some hobbit-saying or otherwise. Bilba could speak in riddles when she wanted to, and he found it best to be direct, though gentle. And it had been a few months since the last large rain. He’d forgotten what happened. 

“For whatever I say, do, and act like today,” she said, glancing at the wet window.

“Ah,” he said, remembering her hobbit-y nature. 

Thorin didn’t really care one way or the other about the weather, but he always found it amusing that rainy days were one of the rare times Bilba would ever curse. And curse. And curse. 

Evidently, her sass was not a large enough outlet for the steam she needed to blow off, and without the space to practice her sword fighting, foul language was her last resort. 

Of course, this was hobbit cursing, so it wasn’t like he had to worry about what the boys were hearing. 

“That thorn-bottomed load of compost!” he heard her yell from the study. 

Thorin chuckled at that one. Bilba had shut herself up in that room as soon as she finished first breakfast. He brought her food every few hours, finding her more irate each trip. Her face was rosy-red and she stared daggers no matter what he did. 

He carried on, teaching the boys Khuzdul and dwarf history, pausing after any particularly loud curse, just to listen for the sounds of anything breaking. 

“Graveyard-farming wart-rider!” 

Fíli and Kíli glanced towards the hall to the study. 

“Is Auntie Bilba okay?” Fíli asked quietly. 

“I have no idea,” Thorin said. “But probably.” 

“Are all hobbits like this?” Kíli asked. Thorin shrugged. If that was true, he worried for his survival. 

“That hairless, soft-footed, seed-stealing son of a birch!” 

That one had to be Thorin’s favorite. 

Thorin grabbed a few of the left-overs from Bilba’s pantry, setting some out for the boys’ snack time and taking some to Bilba with a nice cup of tea. Maybe that would make her feel better. He knocked, and waited. 

“I hope you have food!” she shouted from inside. 

“I do,” he replied neutrally. The door swung open, revealing a near-feral and certainly murderous-looking hobbit. “Good afternoon,” Thorin said gingerly. 

“It is not,” she snapped. Thorin sighed. Bilba looked so adorable when she was venomous.

“Apple fritters and tea, just the way you like them, love,” he said, offering the tray. She pulled it from his hands and set it on her desk, pointedly not meeting his eyes. “And how are we doing?” 

“How am I doing?” Bilba spat. “How am I doing?! Poorly, Thorin! Poorly! It is raining outside, the tomatoes haven’t reddened yet, and the butcher was out of beef yesterday so I had to buy chicken! Not to mention the fact that Prim can’t babysit this weekend, it is raining, and of all the horrid things, Lobelia is pregnant! That hornet-nest sucking, garden-torturer is pregnant, and had the audacity to invite me to her baby-shower! And I can’t turn her down without being rude, and it is raining, and you and your stupid face are being all kind and considerate and handsome and making me feel guilty because I know I’m acting like an un-pollenated cactus because it. Is. _Raining._ ” Hyperventilating, Bilba huffed and forced the tears back as she sat down, eating fritters to comfort herself. “Oh, square doors and cracked plates,” she panted angrily. 

“It’s not your fault,” Thorin said, gently wrapping his arms around her, “We all have our bad days. I have them quite regularly, from what I’ve been told.” 

“Yes. Yes, you do. You go around all brooding and serious and act like a right shoe-wearer,” Bilba sighed, losing steam. 

“Shhh, my cuddly little hobbit,” he laughed, squeezing her middle. He rested his head on her shoulder and stayed there, inhaling her sweet scent as she crossed her arms and pouted at him. 

“Stone-headed gold digger,” she muttered. 

“But I’m your stone-headed gold digger.”

“I hate you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Bilba rolled her eyes. Thorin just squeezed her sides and breathed easily, trying to soothe his love. 

“I should set your beard on fire,” she said, though there was no heat to it. 

“Mm-hm,” Thorin replied. 

“I’ll use your shield for kindling and your sword as a hot-poker.” 

“I imagine you will.” 

“Your nephews will marry hobbit lasses and wear flower crowns and work their gardens.” 

“As you wish.” 

Bilba huffed. 

“Argue with me, you pebble-brained jewel-monger,” Bilba growled, “I need a punching bag.” 

“But you would surely hurt your fist if you hit me,” Thorin grinned wryly. 

“Rock-muncher.” 

“Gentlehobbit.”

“Fur-ball.” 

“Lovely lass.” Thorin planted a kiss on her cheek, holding her there until he felt tiny hands pulling at his hair. 

“Barbarian! Leave me be!” she shouted, but Thorin caught the laugh in her voice. He laughed and left her alone, going back to his nephews who stared at him quizzically. Bilba went back to her work, writing short stories she might one day sell. 

Evening came, and Bilba ate her meals alone, not wanting to poison the lads’ “sensitive minds” with her harsh words. Fíli and Kíli worried for their aunt, and that she might never turn back, but Thorin assured them it was simply a “hobbit thing” and since when were hobbits dangerous?

Fíli was tempted to list the dates that could qualify. He had been interested in the history of his new home, and Bilba had been happy to teach him the rich tapestry of hobbit record. 

But the rain set with the sun, and Bilba calmly climbed into bed next to Thorin without a single expletive. 

“Feeling better?” Thorin mused. 

“Very,” Bilba said with relief, “But we still have to go to Lobelia’s baby shower.” 

“You must be joking,” Thorin said sternly, sitting up. “We have avoided that witch for months! I will not willingly enter her home to celebrate her future spawn!” 

“It will only be for a few hours, then we can avoid her happily for several more years,” Bilba reassured. Thorin grimaced. He still did not understand the hobbits’ seeming necessity to put themselves in painful situations. “Hobbit thing” indeed. 

“Elf wine,” he cursed under his breath. 

\--------------------------------------------------  
   
“Are you sure you don’t want to come? I thought you loved hearing racist commentary,” Bilba joked as she tucked a small cloth over the biscuits in her basket. Thorin snorted where he sat, drinking his coffee with a very disinterested air about him. 

“I would rather take a run through a thunder battle,” he answered, scowling. “I still can’t believe you’re going, much less bringing gifts. That beast should not be allowed to procreate.” 

“Now now, Thorin,” Bilba smiled calmly, patting his shoulder, “We can’t hate what we haven’t met. The child could be a darling for all we know.” 

“You believe that?” Thorin replied. 

“I believe in not judging one for the actions of their fore-bearers,” she said pointedly. Thorin slumped back in his chair. Bloody hobbits and their argumentative talents. Probably those meddling books. “Besides, you have to watch the boys all day. That’s a trial in itself.” 

“I am their guardian. They’ll listen to me,” he declared. Bilba pursed her lips and cocked a brow. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” she murmured, and headed for the door. Thorin followed and opened it for her, and they kissed for a moment before she spoke again. “Try to enjoy this, Thorin. They won’t be little boys forever. They’re getting older and so are we.” 

“I know,” he sighed. He’d watched them grow since they were little babes in swaddling. Thorin could remember being handed Fíli and Kíli for the first times, their first words (Fíli: Papa, Kíli: Mama), and how much taller they had gotten with each passing year. It was frightening, how quickly they changed. 

“Good morning,” Bilba said, heading for the gate.

“Good luck.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Bilba was beginning to question the appeal of babies. She’d been to plenty of baby-showers before, some on the same day! But this was the first time she’d put a lot of thought into it.

Baby-showers were one of the few holidays where guests did bring gifts to the host, and Lobelia would certainly not be at a loss for supplies. There were diapers stacked waist-high, little outfits piled onto tables, and the dining room was filled with toys. Hobbits (mostly ladies) had come from all over the Shire (Bilba would say out of fear, Lobelia would claim love) to see the new mother off. Lobelia’s child wasn’t due for another few weeks, but hobbit pregnancies were short, and they had found throughout the years that it was best to prepare early. 

Bilba strolled through the smial, staring at the gifts and tools needed for child care, and found herself feeling quite…relieved. 

Fíli and Kíli had long been out of diapers when they arrived. They could feed themselves and were potty trained and could even read and write to a degree. Mothers had always raved about how adorable and sweet their little bundles of joy were, but Bilba had always been slightly suspicious. They cried and pooped and woke you up in the middle of the night. She’d had to comfort the boys when they had nightmares, but babies were in an entirely different league. 

Perhaps she had gotten lucky. 

Bilba continued to stroll around the party, looking for someone to talk to. The Baggins women were debating possible names with the Sackvilles. They all sounded rather heated. Bilba moved away, heading for somewhere with a little less fire. 

“Bilba?” a familiar voice asked quietly. She spun. Lobelia. 

Her stomach was plump and round, but not obtrusively so. A light pink dress covered it well, made for comfort more than appearance. She looked worried, biting her lip, with a hand cradling her belly. 

“How have you been?” Lobelia asked delicately. Bilba’s brow furrowed. Her cousin sounded almost…genuine.

“Good, good. And you?” she replied neutrally, gesturing to her bump. 

“It’s been fine so far,” Lobelia answered, gently rubbing her belly. She glanced up at her cousin and bit her lip again. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually…” 

“About what?” Bilba said, treading carefully. This could be a trick. Or something else entirely. 

“A truce.” 

Bilba’s brows jumped. She blinked at her cousin. 

“What?” 

“A truce,” Lobelia reiterated quietly, “For a little while, at least.” Lobelia gazed down at her growing belly, and then back at Bilba, whose brow furrowed. Lobelia looked…fearful? “Bilba, this is my first child and—and I’m scared, okay? Otho and I have been trying for years and this is the first time it’s worked! All the other mothers say having children is easy and fun, but Bilba! I don’t know what I’m doing! I’ve got a baby growing inside me and my cousins are giving me booties but I still have no idea what a mother is supposed to do!” Lobelia sniffled. “I—I want a truce. Between you and me. I won’t cause any trouble, and we’ll just avoid each other, okay? At least til the little one is a little older?” 

Bilba stared. Lobelia, Bane of the Shire, terrified of her own possible failure. And she was asking for peace. 

“A truce…” Bilba said slowly, trying to absorb everything. “Yes, yes, yes, of course!” she quickly stuttered. “Lobelia, of course we don’t need to fight. You’ve got more important things to think about than me!” Bilba smiled at the woman. “It’s a deal.” 

Lobelia smiled. 

Not evilly, nor cruelly, nor vindictively. 

She smiled, and she actually looked happy. 

“Thank you,” Lobelia said breathlessly. “Thank you, Bilba. I was so afraid that…”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Bilba finished. “Lobelia, I may not have given birth, but children are not things to be feared! They’re bundles of joy. Of course, there will be bad days, but they’ll turn out fine. And if you’re scared, just tell someone. That’s why we have gatherings like this!” 

“I know,” Lobelia said a little defensively. “I…I will. But you know this isn’t forever, right?” 

“I expect you’ll come back worse than ever,” Bilba chuckled. Lobelia nodded, laughing slightly. 

“Yes, I probably will,” she admitted, “but not until after my bun can walk on his own.” 

“A boy?” Bilba asked. Lobelia nodded. 

Hobbits had one more special attribute. This came to babies. While dwarves could tell you what minerals could be found in any given stone, a hobbit could say what a child’s gender could be within a few weeks of the birth. It gave some extra time for name-planning. 

And if someone didn’t know they were pregnant, it gave some extra time for everything-planning. 

Bilba left the party a few hours later, feeling rather confident. The world had just lost a major evil power, at least for a few years. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Thorin was one the verge of having an aneurism. The boys wouldn’t listen to a word he said. When he caught Fíli, Kíli was stealing cookies out of the jar. When he caught Kíli, Fíli ran off with his shield. When did the boys lose their respect for authority? When had they become such evil rascals? This was his home, he was in charge, and Thorin was going to take a stand. 

And that’s when he heard it. 

“Come on, you son of a birch! Get the scones!” 

Fíli cursed. 

Oh there was no way in the Halls of Mandos that he was going to let that fly. 

“Fíli! Kíli!” Thorin bellowed angrily. “Come here, now!” The boys could sense their uncle’s fury, and came scurrying. “Boys,” he growled. They stood at his feet, not meeting his eye. Thorin put his hands on his hips, refusing to budge. “That is very immature of you. You two are from the Line of Durin. You are princes of Erebor. And princes do not curse for the fun of it.” 

Hobbit curses hardly qualified as curses, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“I do not want to hear such bile come from your throats again, is that clear? Cursing is very bad.” Thorin stared at the two, blue eyes piercing, waiting for their response. Fíli glanced up, and then elbowed Kíli. 

“Do you hear that, Kíli?” Fíli said conspiringly. “He says cursing is _baaad_.” 

The two grinned, and dashed away. 

“Boys!” Thorin shouted, running after them. “Get back here!” He caught them in the sitting room, tossing his shield back and forth. “Fíli! Give that here. It’s very precious to me.” 

But when Thorin reached for it, Fíli tossed it to Kíli, who ran back through Bag End’s halls, and before Thorin could catch him, Fíli was off as well. 

And then, to a silent tune, the boys started singing. 

“ _Stone-headed gold digger!_ ” Kíli started, a bright smile to his mischievous face. 

“ _Pebble-brained jewel-monger!_ ” Fíli continued, catching the shield as Thorin chased after the two, who were practically running circles around him. 

“ _Rock-munching hornet’s nest!_ ” they chimed together as Thorin panted, bent over. Where did those two get the energy? The brothers, realizing their uncle was slowing, met in a small intersection of halls in front of him, each beaming. They grinned at each other and shouted, “ _That’s what Uncle Thorin detests!_ ”

Thorin continued his pursuit, but as he rounded a corner he discovered that, not only did neither of his boys have his shield anymore, but that they were both now juggling many of his forging tools, beads, and other dwarvish possessions he’d collected over the years, back and forth. 

“ _Hairless, soft-footed furball!_ ” Kíli cheered as he tossed a small hammer under his leg to his brother. 

“ _Garden-torturing rascal!_ ” Fíli chanted as his uncle looked on, stunned, at the tall pile of beads his eldest nephew had precariously stacked atop his blond head and persisted to walk with. 

“ _Pollen-less cacti and square doors!_ ” the two caroled. Thorin was beginning to consider pleading for mercy. “ _That’s what Uncle Thorin abhors!_ ”

The eldest dwarf ran through the home, desperately trying to get all the sharper objects out of his nephews’ hands, while they did their very best to throw them as hard as they could at each other. 

“ _Seed stealer, pumpkin eater!_ ” Kíli shouted in his high and squeaky (but still rather adorable) voice. He was currently carrying dwarf-made cast-iron pot, and started swinging it like a hammer-throw. Luckily, when Kíli let it go, Thorin caught it. 

Unluckily, he did so with his stomach. 

“ _Shoe-wearer, wart-rider!_ ” Fíli sang, standing on the table and beating two of his uncle’s hammers against another pot to make a beat. 

“ _Elf wine and cracked plates!_ ” they roared, “ _That’s what Uncle Thorin hates!_ ”

When Thorin found them, back in the sitting room, all of his things were neatly stacked and organized, and the boys were beaming at their hilariously-disheveled uncle. They batted their eyes innocently, and Thorin was far too tired to care anymore. 

Then there was a knock at the door. 

“She’s here,” he gasped, and the boys ran to greet their aunt. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Sounds like you had quite the day,” Bilba giggled as Thorin crawled painfully into bed, his skin splotched with bruises from running into furniture and Kíli’s impromptu hammer toss. “But you seemed to have handled it well.” 

“Those two are grounded for a month,” he snarled, pulling his wife closer under the covers. Bilba was always a furnace of heat, and her smooth, soft skin felt better than ever against his bruised form. “I am going to wash their mouths out with soap,” he said, only half-joking. 

“Oh, relax,” she said, petting his beard to soothe him in the dim moonlight peering in from the window. “They’re kids, Thorin. They won’t be like that forever. We have to try to enjoy these moments while they’re still happening.”

“Well, if you’d been here to “enjoy” that little moment, I’d think you would agree with me,” he huffed, throwing his arm over her as she settled against his side. “You should have heard them. Cursing like a hobbit that was cuffed by its own pony.” Bilba laughed. 

“You dwarves are so dramatic,” she scolded, poking his side. “Though I can’t imagine how they put them all together in a song. How much practicing would that take?” 

“I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Our little boys are growing up, Thorin, whether we like it or not,” Bilba said. “And we’re not getting any younger, either.” 

Thorin cocked a brow at her, “And what is that supposed to mean?” His offended face made her laugh again and this time he wrapped her up in his arms to hold her close. “Have I lost my charm? My strong and noble features? Are you no longer attracted to me, my sweet?” The longer he went, the more she giggled and he nuzzled her ticklish his neck with his sharp nose. He nipped at her affectionately until she reluctantly pushed him away. 

“See? This is what I’m talking about. So overdramatic,” she sighed quietly, resting her head against him shoulder. After a moment, she said, “All I’m saying is that we have to accept that things will change. The boys will get older and probably all the more mischievous. But they might change in ways we aren’t expecting. You never know.” 

Thorin snorted, “I’m definitely not expecting them to mature any time soon, but maybe we’ll get lucky.” 

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Bilba replied, smiling to herself. Thorin sighed, running his fingers through her curls. “They wouldn’t mature if Mahal told them to.” 

“They would probably laugh in his face and steal his hammers,” Thorin added dryly. 

“And he’d run after them, and Yavanna would be laughing twice as hard—“

“—Along with the rest of the gods—“

“Then he’d ask us how we were such horrible parents.” 

“And I would blame you hobbits,” Thorin declared. 

“And I would blame you dwarves,” Bilba said. “And everything would work out just fine.” 

They laid there, snuggled against one another and buried beneath the blankets for some time, neither sleeping. Thorin would never tire of such moments with his beloved. 

“You never answered my questions,” he said after a while.

“Hm?” 

“About us getting older. Whether or not I had lost my charm,” he clarified. Bilba rolled her eyes. 

“Thorin, as brooding and cranky as you may get some days, I doubt I’ll be any less enraptured by you even when gray runs through your hair. I’ll probably age much less gracefully.” 

“You’ll only grow more endearing, my love. Women age like wine.” 

“Hobbits age like fruit, Thorin.” 

“Then you’ll make a very fruity wine.” 

Bilba had half a mind to swat him, but was far too comfortable to do so. However, she did have other ideas. 

“Though Thorin,” she began, a trace of innocent worry in her voice. “There is one thing I’m concerned about.” She leaned up, gazing down at her dwarf husband, whose hair sprawled across both their pillows. 

“What is it, my dear?” 

“Well, you know how hobbits can be quick and light on our feet. We never really lose that. But what of dwarves? If you’re truly like stones, won’t you only slow? I worry that someday, you might not be able to _keep up_.” 

Thorin’s eyes widened as he caught her meaning, but he just cocked a brow and smirked. 

“Then allow me to comfort you, and display how well we dwarves can _“keep up”_ , as you put it.” They smiled at each other as Bilba laid back and Thorin pulled the covers over his shoulders to keep them both warm. Their breaths mingled and their eyes met, both excited and impish. 

He leaned down to kiss her, and her arms wrapped around his neck. Her small form radiated heat, and Thorin’s chest felt tight as he ran his hands down her sides. 

“You will always be beautiful to me, my ghiva—“

“Uncle Thorin! Kíli had a nightmare. Could—OH PYRITE!” Fíli squeaked loudly as he stumbled in on his guardians. “SORRY! SORRY! I’LL TALK TO HIM!” Fíli slammed the door and ran back through the hall, most likely traumatized. 

Bilba turned bright red and tried to sink into the mattress. Thorin just shook his head. 

“That will teach him to knock,” he breathed. 

“We just scarred that boy,” Bilba said, half-serious, as they heard Fíli cursing in shock down the hall. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye ever again.” 

“This is a part of getting older, Bilba.” 

“He’s not supposed to know _until_ he’s older, Thorin!” Bilba scolded, swatting his shoulder. 

“At least we know they’re not going to interrupt us again,” he chuckled, leaning down for a kiss. She shook her head. 

“Nuh-uh. Lost the mood. Scoot over,” she said, pushing him away. 

“What? Bilba! No!” 

“Sorry, dear. Better luck next time.” Bilba pulled away from him, wrapping the blankets around herself, leaving Thorin on the verge of seething. 

Bilba grinned as she heard him curse under his breath, forcing himself under the blankets to fold his arm over her. They fit each other perfectly, and he buried his nose in her curls, muttering threats against his nephews into her hair as she giggled at his suffering. 

That would never get old.


	24. Never a Dull Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter, but a look at the lives of our Company.   
> And there is a small moment of sexual harassment in this one.   
> And violence.

Years passed. 

The dwarves of Ered Luin continued their struggle forward, and the village slowly began to improve. Dwalin and Nori used their combined skills to keep crime low, though Nori would leave the city every few years for the sake of money. Balin and Gloin worked together to keep the political corruption controlled. Bombur and Bifur made toys to keep the children happy, and Bofur and Dori kept their jobs to bring food to the table. Oin healed, Bofur mined, and Dori made tea. It was not an exciting existence, but it was not a painful one. 

Little Ori grew into a young adult, drawing and writing to earn extra coin. Balin had promised an apprenticeship when she came of age, and all the dwarves of Thorin’s company helped keep an eye on their youngest. 

She missed her two friends dearly, and her brother when he left Ered Luin. She missed Dis’s strong attitude and Bilba’s caring arms. Life in Ered Luin wasn’t great. Growing up in Ered Luin was awful. 

Ori never knew who she could trust, and without Nori she wasn’t sure what streets were safer at night. Dori was protective, but she preferred him to his absence. She always kept her eye out and a calm head on, but life was never easy. 

She spent many of her days dwarfling-sitting baby Gimli while both his parents were working. He was usually a good child, but tended to have a fit every once in a while and it took hours to soothe him. Ori spent his nap time writing, practicing her runes and thinking of tales she could sell. A few of her short stories were selling well, but there was a limited population in Ered Luin, so she kept having to put new ones out. Her ‘romantic fictions’ were selling the best by far, and no one suspected the pen-name to be hers. The shop-keeper didn’t know her real name, and she hoped he never would for the sake of Dori’s heart. 

And while the bullying hadn’t stopped much, but she was getting better at retorting it. Many of the other girls were beginning to be more interested in romance than in attacking her, and Ori would be happy if they stayed that way. Romance? Courting? Psh. Ori had her books and her brothers, what else could she want? 

“No, Gimli! That doesn’t go in your mouth!”

\---------------------------------------------------------

Dwalin was struggling to not punch a hole in the wall. The Guard had grown and improved over the years, but criminals still slipped through the cracks occasionally. Crime was still aggravatingly high, and sometimes the prison was too full to hold everyone. Kids, he always felt bad for. Little pick-pockets just trying to help their families. Nori’s type. 

Dwalin didn’t like thieves. He wasn’t too fond of Nori. But no one should be punished for just trying to feed themselves. 

So when a pompous merchant came in demanding a thief’s hands be chopped off for stealing his purse, Dwalin was a little irritated. 

They didn’t punish by maiming. Thieves served their time (if they didn’t break out first) and were released. But tradesmen tended to take theft personally. 

Dwalin ordered one of his more level-headed guards to explain to the fool what was going to happen, and that he would not have any power in the matter. Wealth should not affect law, and Dwalin headed the Guard with that rule in mind. The wealthy dwarves of Ered Luin had enough power already. 

The warrior shook his head. Over a decade had passed since Dis’s death. Maybe he needed something other than crime to focus on. It wasn’t the healthiest job in the world, for the mind or the body, as Balin just loved to tell him. 

“Find someone kind, little brother,” Balin would say. “Remind yourself that the world has more than crime and punishment.” 

Oh aye, there were battles and blood and orcs and death. Plenty of other things to think about. 

He considered organizing another trip to the Shire, but always stopped himself. The trips were expensive and suspicious. If they went, not all of them could go, so that meant deciding who had to stay in Ered Craphole and who could go see their king and his lovely wife. Going to the Shire meant months of planning and saving coin when times were already tight. It meant uprooting workers from jobs that might not always be there, and taking dwarves away from their families. Neither Gloin nor Oin had seen Thorin since that fateful night, tied down to family and duty. 

He hoped someone would find an excuse to go soon. Letters from and to Thorin were few and far between as a safety precaution, and the warrior worried for his friend and his wife and boys. 

Ah, another reason he couldn’t plan a trip to the Shire. Balin would start throwing lasses at him. 

Not that there was anything wrong with hobbit lasses, of course. They were just a tad…small. Petite. 

Fragile. 

Dwalin had always fretted about touching Bilba, for fear of leaving a bruise. The little lass was so soft! No hard muscles or thick skin. It amazed him that Thorin had not broken her yet. 

Ah, ‘broken’ of course meaning in an accidentally too-tight hug or perhaps a friendly pat on the back. Certainly not that Thorin would ever abuse his wife or that he was too big for—

Never mind. Point was that hobbits were delicate creatures, and Dwalin was about as far from delicate as one could get. 

Dwalin stormed slowly through the cobblestone streets to his home with Balin. It had once held the Line of Durin, and the family had been terribly cramped. Now the house—shack—felt far too empty. It was cold, vacant. He slumped down into a chair with a heavy tankard in his hand. Nori was out of town, so no drinking-partner tonight. Maybe if Bofur got off early…

And then someone started banging on the door. 

The tankard cracked in his grip. 

He threw himself from the seat and stomped to the door, tearing it open. Could he not get one night of peace?

“Sir!” the guard gasped, startled. 

“What?” Dwalin spat. The dwarf was trembling slightly, staring up at the thundercloud of a dwarf. 

“The Thief is back,” he whimpered. 

The Thief—

Nori—

“Mahal _DAMN IT!_ ”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Nori hadn’t laughed that hard in years. 

Ered Luin, a craphole but an improving craphole, was always good for a laugh. The guards were fierce, stubborn and strong, and the looks on their faces when he danced away were priceless. 

They referred to him as “The Thief” for many reasons. He had never been found committing any other crime than theft and he was very, very good at it. The rare times they managed to catch him, he snuck out of his cell by dawn. It was an embarrassment. But the main reason they called him that? 

No one knew his name. 

Never held long enough to interrogate and not wearing any familial beads, The Thief might as well have been a ghost. Not even his own thieving friends knew if he had family. 

But Dwalin did. 

The guardsman had to bite his tongue every time he saw The Thief, knowing that he couldn’t dare say his name or he would lose his biggest ally. Every time Dwalin saw Nori pocketing jewels or coin, running from guards or dashing across rooftops, he had to shut his mouth and just give enough effort to make it look real. Dwalin caught Nori a few times, knowing his patterns, but The Thief would always disappear. 

No one would seriously think The Thief had a dwarf on the inside. The Guard was the least corrupt institution of Ered Luin (well, the Scribes were perhaps a little ahead of them, but they didn’t really count) and everyone hated The Thief so much that no one would dare work with him. 

And since no one would think of helping The Thief, no dwarf would ever imagine in their wildest dreams that Dwalin, Head of the Guard and chief pillar of justice, would aid his sworn enemy in his escape from prison. 

Dwalin certainly didn’t like thinking about it. 

He hated Nori’s thieving, his criminal ways, but they needed him. They needed him as a thief and a top one at that. Nori had some not-insignificant sway in Ered Luin’s underbelly, and his informants knew their facts. Nori could set up a robbing of a certain Noble, or the sudden disappearance of a merchant’s finest silk. He directed the players of the night, and made sure none strayed too close to the Shire. 

Of course, at that moment, he himself was acting like one of those minor thieves, sprinting through alleys and leaping over carts, forcing his laughter to quiet so he could escape the guards chasing him. Ered Luin was an easy place to get lost in at night, with only a few streets lit by lanterns. Usually, Nori would let himself fade into the shadows, popping in and out of backdoors to confuse his assailants, but tonight was different. Tonight he was going home. 

His illegally-acquired beads weren’t the only goods on his person. A few books, parchment, and quills sat inside his rucksack for Ori, along with those chocolates from Bree she liked. For Dori he had fine silks from the south and some extra coin to hold them over if things got rough. 

Nori was a thieving, lying, honorless dwarf, but he was a thieving, lying, honorless dwarf who cared about family. 

He unlatched the window to the guest room and slid inside, ears carefully listening for any sounds of company. Balin came over for tea once in a while, and if something serious was going on in town, he and Dori could stay up all night talking about it (if they didn’t stay up all night doing something else). 

But no voices were rising from the hall, and Nori let himself relax just a hair. Dori hated it when he snuck in and Ori nearly had a heart-attack every time, but what else could he do? 

He set his bag on the bed and tip-toed into the hall, checking for signs of his siblings. Occasionally Dori had to work late and Ori would be left alone in the evenings, which no one was happy about but her. Little pebble. Nori had been the same way. 

And look where it got him. 

Nori had considered training Ori to be a thief like him, able to take care of herself and get out of trouble (and prisons). Dori would have died before he let it happen, but Nori didn’t bother anyway. He didn’t want Ori to be like him, scrounging for meals and away from those who cared about him. Ori had a future, a talent for a craft that was safe and well-paid. She didn’t need to take risks. And while he didn’t like to think about it, the criminal world was not too kind to women who weren’t ready to kill. 

Nori sighed as he found the house empty, sitting down at the miniscule dining table. Dwalin would probably be here by morning. His little display had the whole Guard in a tizzy, and their Head would be pissed. Dwalin wouldn’t bother arresting him, but he would give him some damn speech about showing-off and embarrassing the city’s justice system. 

Well it wasn’t his fault they couldn’t catch him! 

Nori crossed his arms over the table and laid his head down, letting his shoulders slump. Sleep was a blessing in his life, but a dangerous one. Criminals had to sleep with one eye open or risk getting a knife in their back. Home was the one place Nori could rest without worry, where sleep wasn’t detrimental to his life-expectancy. Home…he could just…sleep forever…

“Nori?” a soft voice said. Nori jumped awake in his seat. How long had he been out? His eyes snapped to a concerned-looking Ori, her sketchbook held against her and her bowl-cut still firmly in place. 

“Evening, pebble,” he greeted warmly. He rose from his seat and wrapped his arms around her, his little sister, the last innocent thing he knew. Her arms curled around his waist and squeezed, and that Ri family strength was certainly evident. Nori didn’t have that oddly-powerful muscle like Dori and Ori, but he was limber enough that they never cracked his back. 

“When did you get in?” she asked, looking sleepy herself. 

“Little while ago, I suppose. What are you doing out so late? Where’s Dori?” he asked, hiding his worry with curiosity. 

“Still at the shop, I guess,” Ori yawned, “And Gloin and his wife had their ‘date-night’ tonight so I stayed with Gimli.”

“And you walked home by yourself?” Nori asked in surprise, fear creeping in deeper and deeper. Ori just shrugged. 

“I know the route and there are guards on every street, Nori,” she answered. Nori wanted to explain how he knew for a fact that the Guard was a little distracted this evening, but didn’t dare. Ori had loved his tales of adventure when she was little. Now that she really understood what he did, Ori just fretted that he’d be jailed for life and they’d never see him again. Perhaps it was a childish thought. Thieves didn’t get life-sentences. But there had never been a thief like Nori…

“I know, I know, lass,” he smiled weakly, trying to unknot his stomach. “So how about you come see what I brought you before the ol’ mother hen gets back?” 

Ori beamed. Nori always knew exactly what she wanted. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Dori wasn’t a vain person, but he did care for his appearance. There was nothing wrong with a little neatness or flair in one’s looks, and Dori appreciated both. Life may have been drab, but that did not mean everyone had to dress like slobs. His robes were kept as clean as his shop and home, and not a single hair was out of place in his beautiful braids. Dori wasn’t a Noble, not technically, but he could play the part better than most. 

Unfortunately, that tended to grant him some less-than-flattering attention. 

Now most leering fools wouldn’t leave their tavern cups just to stare at him, and his teashop did linger closer to the nice side of Ered Luin than the bad, but Dori couldn’t count the number of calls he got on the walk home. It was ridiculous. Most of the dwarves were smart enough to shut their mouths when he passed a guardsman, but the second they were all out of earshot Dori would start hearing ‘compliments’. 

But Dori was a gentledwarf. He did not start fights. He did not react to fools’ tongues. If some brainless, beard-extension wearing twit wanted to make more of an ass of himself than he already was, that was his choice. Dori would remain steadfast. He blocked the vast majority of it out, focusing on what shopping he would have to do tomorrow and if he should find someone to walk Ori home. Gloin would be happy to, but Dori never liked pulling him away from his son. 

He was just beginning to stroll into a less-lit street when he noticed how few guards were out. Where had they all gone? Dwalin never let his soldiers skip out. 

Dori’s heart beat a little faster. Hopefully Ori was already home. She should be, even if Gloin had gone out to dinner. 

“Aye, the fussy one has a fine bottom, but have you seen ‘is wee sister? Now there’s a lass I’d like to mine.” 

Dori barely heard it, the miner’s joke. But he did. 

The dwarves barely noticed him stop mid-step, slowly turning his face towards them. His body was as still as a stone, but he was red-faced and furious

_No one_ talked about Ori like that. 

By the time the guards had rounded up enough of their forces to pull him off the other dwarf, Dori’s knuckles were dripping red and not with his blood. They had to haul him bodily to the nearest station, and put him in a cell of his own. Most of the warriors didn’t think it was safe to put him with anyone else. 

Dori sat grumbling, wiping the illiterate bastard’s blood from his hands with a hankerchief, and moaned when he heard one of the guards mention a friend of his. 

“So who’s going to tell Dwalin?” 

\---------------------------------------------------------

An entirely not-deaf Oin was just cleaning up his supplies when a few miners filed into his office, needing him to patch up their friend. Oin was the only medic in the neighborhood, and very accustomed to treating bar-brawl injuries, and the miners were just grateful he was still open at this time of night. Like he ever closed with the number of idiots in this town. 

Like this pathetic lad, who looked like he had just lost a fight with an oliphaunt. 

The doctor just shook his head. Why was it that lasses made up a third of their population, but only a tenth of his cases? And ladies were so much more polite as patients. None of this “he came out of nowhere” and “I was minding my own business” orcshit. Now some young men were very nice and well-mannered patients, but they were never the ones who had to get the shale kicked out them in the middle of the night by some ‘tight-bearded lunatic with hammers for fists’. 

Oi. Was this why their population was so low? 

But Oin was too tired to get angry as he set the lad’s nose and bandaged his lips. He got some cold rags to set over his two swelling eyes, and forced the fool to down a few painkillers. Mahal knew he’d need them. 

If Oin was honest, maybe he was just getting a little crotchety. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, running around with his brother and their cousins. He himself had participated in a handful of brawls in his younger years (all started by his brother of course, the hothead). But he had gotten wise and started studying, learning to make salves and treat wounds. It was a good skill to have, though not a pleasant one to be needed. Oin was not some great warrior with a love of battles or glory, but he’d seen more than his fair share of death and war. Both he and his brother had marched to Moria with the King, and that alone was enough for a lifetime. 

Being the one to declare Dis’s husband dead after the mine accident stuck in his memory as well. For all his training and skill, he still lost people. Far more than he’d like to remember. 

But it reminded him how much he was needed. Dwarves were made of stone but they knew better than anyone how it could be carved and cracked. The constant danger was what kept him close to home, even when he wished to see his king and his new wife. 

He had been suspicious at first, hearing about this hobbit woman. When Thorin was younger he could have had any dwarf as a spouse, and yet he never even looked for one. But he marries a tiny beardless woman? Oin had wanted to march down there and check Thorin for head injuries. 

But then the company had returned, raving about the sweet lass housing their king and princes. If she could win over Dwalin, the lady was probably a good sort. Thorin had been living there for years and Oin still hadn’t met her. And for what? A bunch of bar-brawlers and devastating mining accidents? What kind of life was that?

Oin sighed and quieted his anger. There were bright moments, of course, memories that made everything seem worthwhile. 

Bofur and Bombur’s young faces as Bifur woke up. 

Bandaging little Fíli’s first ‘boo-boo’. 

Delivering his nephew. 

But you drop the baby ONE time and your brother never lets you forget it.

Oin rolled his eyes. His brother was so dramatic. 

A lot like the fellow being dragged out by his mates. Oin closed up shop and headed for home. Maybe he could get some sleep tonight without being awoken for something stupid.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Gloin gazed at his sleeping son, all tucked in and coddled and soft. His little Gimli. His heart always warmed at the sight. He dealt with cheating merchants and devious Nobles every day, constantly reminding himself that, no, you can’t put an axe through their heads. 

All the impoverished and malnourished dwarves of Ered Luin suffered and starved as he was forced to make deals with devils so that they could still have something to live for. It made him feel sick, knowing that there were parents who couldn’t give to their children what he could to Gimli. Dwarvish greed was a force to be reckoned with, but parenthood was another. 

“Gloin, come to bed,” his wife called. He smiled to himself. He was a very lucky dwarf. 

He rose and strode out to his room, changing into his bedclothes. 

“I think you should start walking Ori home when you can,” she said, pulling him closer as he sunk beneath the covers. “I thought I heard a fight breaking out a few streets over when we were walking home. We got in so late tonight I started worrying.” 

“I’m sure she’s fine, but I’ll start tomorrow if it makes you feel better,” he agreed. 

She was right. You couldn’t take risks nowadays. Not with the people you cared about.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Bombur was also resting with his spouse at the time, their dozen-plus children all sleeping soundly with the help of their uncle. Bofur never missed a chance to lend a hand, especially with the kids. Bifur had been there too this evening, before his brother and cousin had left for their shared home, and had been carving toys for the children who continued to accidentally destroy their old ones. 

Bombur knew his family was rare. Most dwarves had one or two children, if any at all. His family was rarity, a blessing straight from the maker. He could never imagine why it was him though. 

Bombur was no warrior and he knew it. He was scared of a lot of things and had never taken fighting lessons like most dwarves. He was a fat dwarf, no point in pretending he wasn’t. And it wasn’t the sort of fat that covered strong muscles. He was soft and gentle and only had a few talents. Cooking, eating, and caring. 

He made sure his children never went hungry. He always talked to his cousin when he seemed to space out. He loved his wife with all his heart and swore he’d never see her unhappy. 

He never understood why he was so special. But he grinned as his wife petted his long beard chain as she usually did when his face turned serious, and kissed her for all he was worth. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Bofur woke to the late mining bell, the wake-up call to all who worked the red-eye shift. He changed and grabbed his pick-axe quickly, inhaling the sandwich Bombur had made him last night. He was out the door in minutes. 

While Bofur was relaxed and easy dwarf, his schedule was strict and tight. Wake up in the night, mine. Go home. Eat. Sleep. Get up, mine the afternoon shift. Go to Bombur’s to help with the kids. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Occasionally, evenings would be spent at the taverns with a few mining buddies, but that was about all the change he lived with. That and Nori. The thief had the unusual talent of wrecking his timing at every opportunity. Their relationship was still strained, but still there. 

Now that he thought about his criminal beau, he noticed how few guards were out on the street for the middle of the night. Had something happened?

Bofur yawned and tried to shake himself awake, rolling his shoulders and hearing his back crack. Most dwarves wouldn’t be up for a few more hours. Bifur’s toy stall and Bombur’s bakery didn’t open until mid-morning, along with Dori’s teashop and Oin’s salve shop (though the doctor himself could be called upon most hours of the day). 

He marched into the tunnels with the other dwarves, waving lazily to a few friends as they descended into the darkness. Bofur always whispered a short prayer to Mahal when he entered. Call him superstitious, but praying couldn’t hurt, could it?

There hadn’t been an accident in years, maybe a small one since the cave-in that killed Dis’s husband. The mines were getting more funding, better support, and as Ered Luin grew the mines would too. At least that’s what they all hoped. The dwarves needed money, and this was their best shot. 

Short of anyone in the food industry (like Bombur), the miners made the best money. It wasn’t much, but there was work to be had. Bifur couldn’t do it anymore because of the axe, so Bofur took what shifts he could. 

It wasn’t a great life. Not easy by any means, and they constantly saved every spare penny for a trip to the Shire. 

But Bofur had his family, and that’s all he needed. 

Whistling his favorite tune, he began to pick at the rock.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Bifur had nightmares pretty often, to the point he was practically used to them. Some were worse than others, but he made it through most nights without waking Bofur up. The lad needed all the sleep he could get. He worked far harder than any cheery lad should have to, and Bifur felt guilty every day for it. If it weren’t for the damn axe he could—he could…

He could do a lot of things if it were not for the axe. 

But he set up his stall every day, carving the creatures he saw in his dreams. Some were monstrous, like the trolls and oliphaunts and stone giants. Others were warriors; not based on an actual person, just mixes of different features that stuck out to him. In one dream there was a warrior with fine black hair, silky and shining, and there was another with large round ears. 

But his ears grew! They grew and grew and then he flapped away…

Bifur just opted for normal ears. Though perhaps he’d make an eagle next…

The market was beginning to flow better now, dwarves looking for their daily needs. Haggling in a dwarf market wasn’t common. Most dwarf craftsmen would charge a fair price for anything, and most consumers could tell if the item was quality. Men who passed through were often found fighting over prices with the makers, and were quick to discover that the rumored dwarven stubbornness was quite true. 

Bifur was just setting out the figures he had finished the day before when he heard a familiar voice. 

“Bifur! Bifur, over here!” Ori yelled, dashing towards his stand. His eyes widened at the frightful state of the girl. Her hair was a mess and she looked like she hadn’t slept a wink. “Have you seen Dori?” she asked, panicked. “He never came home last night. I’ve been searching everywhere but no one’s has seen him since yesterday!” 

He shook his head sorrowfully. The girl’s fear grew. What had happened? Where was Dori? Had he gone on an adventure? Or stolen away to the Shire? Bifur would love to go to the Shire again. It was very green there and the children had these little button noses and Bilba was so adorable—

“Okay, okay, well, if you see him can you tell him to go home? Nori’s back but he can’t go out, so he’s waiting back at the house. I’m going to keep looking.” Bifur nodded and the girl rushed away, scanning the crowds frantically. 

At least the day didn’t seem boring any more…

\-----------------------------------------------------------

It was Balin who found out first. 

The former royal-advisor had been in his office, filing an atrocious amount of paper work when his brother came storming in, his stomps actually making the desk shake. 

“Subtle as ever, brother,” Balin greeted. 

“Subtle? Oh, wait til you hear about the night I had, brother, then you’ll know why I don’t care for subtlety,” Dwalin growled back. Balin noted that his voice was slightly higher than usual on the scale of calm to homicidal, and glanced up. 

Dwalin was a mess. A sleep-deprived, black-eye sporting, bristling mess. Balin’s brow rose dryly. 

“Obviously a more exciting night than my own, or would you like to hear my tales of trading deals?” 

Dwalin seethed, ready to break something, anything, in two. Nostrils flaring, muscles tensed, the younger son of Fundin took a moment to recollect the whole story. 

“Out with it, brother,” Balin teased. 

“Your boyfriend gave me this black-eye and is sitting in solitary confinement.” 

That wasn’t the whole story, but it was the part that made Balin’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. 

“Tell me everything,” he ordered as he stood and gathered his bag. “And take me to him.” 

Dwalin smirked. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Nori was right. Dwalin did come to his home the next morning, but he brought a very angry Dori, a very distressed Balin, and poor Ori who immediately went to bed. 

Judging by Dwalin and Dori’s faces, they both wanted to murder him. But Dori relented. 

“Call the others,” he said quietly. “We need to have a meeting.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The dwarves sat around the long table in Balin and Dwalin’s house, each more grim than the last. Meetings weren’t held for any small reason, and Dori had never called one before. Each of the company had heard bits and pieces of the night before, but no one knew the entire tale. 

Most sat around tensed but tired, with Nori tucked safely between the two dwarves least likely to cause him bodily harm, Bofur and Oin. Ori was back at her home, sleeping after her terrible night of fretting. 

Dori stood up and was silent for a moment, waiting for the murmurs to quiet before speaking. 

“I know this meeting was called on short notice and right now is a trying time for all of you, but there is a dark and dangerous matter that must be discussed.” 

Nori sank a little deeper into his chair, wondering if anyone would notice if he just hid under the table. The rest of the dwarves watched Dori with undivided attention, fearing the worst. 

Dori took a deep breath. 

“Ori is…becoming attractive.” 

Nobody moved. 

Dori naturally took their silence for understandable horror, after all his little Ori was an innocent flower! She could be around such filth and be safe! 

“I believe direct action is necessary and time is of the essence so—“ 

“Oh for Mahal’s sake!” Bofur moaned, putting his head on his arms over the table, hoping he would suddenly go to sleep. Oin similarly rolled his eyes, knowing that his wish to not be woken up for a stupid reason had fallen through. Balin sighed in relief for the sake of the Durin’s, and Nori sighed in relief for himself. Dwalin just put his hand over his face. 

“You called us here because your little sister is growing up?” Dwalin moaned. 

“Growing up? Growing up?! She is becoming a lady and those little rats are talking about her! Ori is not safe here!” 

“And yet every other lass in the city is…” Gloin shook his head. Oi. 

“How can you all not be horrified by this?” Dori gasped, astounded at their apathy. “Have you not seen her?” 

“Aye, Dori, your wee sis is a pleasant looking lass, but nothing’s going to happen,” Bombur said. His eldest daughter was still younger than Gimli, but he knew a thing or two about young lads. 

“Nori!” Dori begged for support. His brother shrugged sheepishly. 

“We could send her to the Shire for a bit, if you wanted,” Nori offered. 

“Aye, a little time to see the world before her apprenticeship,” Balin agreed, striving to defuse the situation. “I think she’d enjoy it.” 

“Yes, yes, the Shire! That’s perfect!” Dori shouted. “She’ll be safe there. We’ll send them a letter and see when it is safe to travel.” 

Dori dashed out of the home, leaving the other dwarves to mutter darkly, and rushed to tell his little sister the good news. 

Unfortunately, while Dori was scheming on how to keep her away from those toxic boys, the first thing in Ori’s mind when she heard the news was that, oh yes, she was going to get to see Fíli and Kíli again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on DOaTI: Love is in the air. Oh, and puberty stops by. 
> 
> Comments ~~welcome~~ ~~wanted~~ needed to survive.


	25. The Dwarrowdam: An Unexpected Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori's first few months in the Shire. More to come!  
> Puberty hits our young dwarves, and its painful and horrifying.  
> And everyone agrees Ori would totally be a fanfic writer in modern times, right? Good.

“Today’s the day!” the boys whooped and hollered through the halls of Bag End. Bilba moaned from the rude awakening in the comfort of her bed, Thorin’s arms wrapped around her. 

“Go tell you’re nephews that it isn’t daytime until after first breakfast,” she groaned, elbowing his side gently. Thorin snorted softly into her curls. 

“They’re your nephews too, now. But they certainly don’t listen to me,” he answered. The adults shifted and resisted until the boys’ noise became too much to ignore. Fíli and Kíli were nearly adults themselves now, but neither had lost an ounce of energy. Hobbiton was now home to two rambunctious dwarves, running around, forging and hunting, and the lasses were quite pleased at how they had grown. 

But today, there was another reason the brothers were so excited. 

Today, Ori arrived. 

They had all their chores done ahead of time, fixed the guestroom for her, and even planned out all the places they would show her now that they were old enough to go where they pleased on their own. 

Fíli and Kíli threw on some of their finer clothes and dashed to the kitchen, virtually bouncing off the walls. The two were fine cooks, and whipped up a first breakfast that would make any hobbit proud. While Bilba and Thorin’s dishes had always displayed the noticeable differences between hobbit and dwarf cuisine, Fíli and Kíli could blend them seamlessly, with plenty of meat and vegetables and baked goods to please any eater. 

Their dishes won cooking awards every year, much to the fury of one Lotho Sackville-Baggins. 

Eventually, Bilba and Thorin were able to heave themselves from their bed and into day clothes. Tiny new streaks of silver were beginning to dart Thorin’s temples, though Bilba would be the first to say he was aging quite gracefully. Bilba’s appearance had shifted only slightly since the night the dwarves arrived, and she quite hoped to stay that way for some time. 

Fíli and Kíli had shot up like sunflowers over the years, the older now possessing a few braids in his hair and a moustache starting to form (much to Kíli’s chagrin). Fíli was now taller than Bilba and Kíli was equal to her height and still growing. The brothers had often fought over who had the larger muscles, until their uncle got fed up and began walking around shirtless. Bilba appreciated the view while it lasted, but sadly the nephews were too horrified to ever dare argue again. 

The lads fried and stirred, swapping stories of the childhood moments with Ori they remembered, and Bilba and Thorin soon entered drowsily. 

“You know she’s not getting here ‘til lunch?” Bilba proffered. 

“Then we have to be ready!” Kíli exclaimed. 

“We wanted to make her some treats for when she gets here and meet her down the path.” Fíli said. “She’ll probably not have had a good meal in weeks.” 

“You know Nori will be staying the night as well,” Thorin added. Both brothers stopped in their tracks and shared a look. 

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to make extras then,” Fíli said quickly. Bilba sighed and shook her head as she loaded her plate. She and Thorin ate quietly as the lads ran around the smial, fixing every little detail. 

“I never knew they could clean without whining pathetically,” Thorin said. “We should have asked Ori to visit years ago.” 

“Ori? Please, can’t you see they’re doing this to impress Nori?” Bilba chuckled. 

“If only.”

\-------------------------------------------------

The brothers raced down the path, long hair billowing behind them, each trying to outrun the other. Bilba and Thorin walked after them, glad for the moment of peace and that the boys could blow off some of their ridiculous energy. Thorin had started their warrior training many years earlier and the two were proving him proud. Years of practice had proven Fíli’s talent for dual-wielding swords and Kíli’s skill with the bow was unmatched in the Shire. 

Bilba wondered to herself just what Thorin was training them for, but she never asked. The safety of her boys outweighed her worry. 

Bilba carried a basket of pastries and other treats for their weary travelers, and Thorin had a bag of coin for Nori to help cover the travel expenses. Trips like this weren’t easy on anyone and certainly weren’t cheap, so Thorin always did what he could. A few extra hours put in at the forge was a small price to pay to see his friends again. 

While Nori would only be staying the night, they had planned for Ori to stay the entire year. She was going to begin her apprenticeship with Balin a few months later, so this was her last chance to get out of Ered Luin for quite a while. And Fíli and Kíli’s last chance to spend time with another dwarf their age. 

Soon enough, Bilba and Thorin caught up to where the lads were resting in a tree, not far from where they and Bilba had waited for Gandalf so many years earlier. Bilba spread out a blanket to sit on while they rested, and the four waited. 

Hanging from boughs, Fíli and Kíli got a little impatient. 

“Where is she?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Did they forget?”

“Does she not want to see us?”

“Could they have gotten lost?” 

“Oh look, there they are!” Bilba shouted. The lads jumped to their feet in a second to stare at the path, one completely devoid of dwarves. “Oh no, wait. My bad.” Bilba smiled to herself. Kíli huffed and laid back down. Fíli leaned against a tree. 

“Thanks, Auntie Bilba.”

“It’s good to know our emotions mean so much to you.”

“Like the sun and the moon, loves,” she grinned. 

“Seeing how excited you both are is a little concerning for me, honestly,” Thorin added. “Dori already made me swear to protect Ori from any and all “young hobbit hooligans” who would take advantage of Ori’s “natural sweetness and innocence.” I don’t need Nori murdering my heirs because one of you forgot your manners.” 

“Uncle, how could you think so lowly of us?” Fíli asked with exaggerated pain. 

“I’m offended! My honor has been insulted!” Kíli agreed. “How dare you insinuate that your own nephews would show such horrid behavior?” 

“You’ve done it now…” Bilba grunted to her husband. His shoulders slumped. 

“We have never acted as anything less than perfect gentle-dwarves! Princes! And you would worry about our interactions with a lady!” 

“Ori is a dear friend! How could we ever do anything to make her uncomfortable?” 

“Oh look, there they are!” Bilba commented, pointing down the road. 

“Ha. We’re not falling for that again, Auntie—“

“Fíli! Kíli!” Ori shrieked from her cart. 

“ORI!” the boys yelled in unison. They hit the ground running and rushed down the road as the lass hopped out of the cart, colliding in a three-way hug. 

“’Ello there!” Nori called to his older friends. 

“Good morning!” Bilba called as they strode to meet him. It was a rickety cart Nori rode in on, but it held their things and didn’t stick out enough for them to be robbed. “How was the trip?” 

“Boring,” Nori drawled. 

“Dori said he couldn’t steal anything while I was around, to protect my innocent mind,” Ori said, rolling her eyes. She had a leather satchel hanging around her from one shoulder and was holding her sketchbook. She hadn’t lost the bowl-cut Dori was so fond of, but it was obviously a bit more practiced, and she even had a few small braids in. Auburn side-burns framed her face, but Ori remained as beardless as Kíli, which the lad was grateful for. 

“Welcome back to the Shire!” Fíli cheered, hugging her again. “You’ve got to come see the old forest again, and now we can take you on the Bucklebury Ferry!” 

“And you’re not going to believe your eyes when the spring festivals start! The hobbits bring out more food than an army could eat!” Kíli said. He supposed the spring flowers were pretty too, but food was vastly more beautiful. 

Ori appeared thrilled at the idea, but if Nori’s pursed lips were any sign of the thief’s opinion then they might have a problem. But Bilba’s quick introduction of snacks saved the day. 

The group headed back to Bag End, with Nori informing his king about all the new changes coming to Ered Luin, while the lads chatted at Ori rather than to her, seeing as she was engrossed with drawing every flower that came into view. It had been far too long since her last visit. 

The five dwarves and one hobbit ate lunch quickly, Nori inhaling food more than tasting it. It had been a long trip, and most of their meals consisted of cram and water. He finally slowed down after his second plate, and remembered why he loved the Shire so much. These hobbits could cook. 

Fíli and Kíli began describing each of their hobbit friends that they could introduce Ori to. There were dozens of new children running around the Shire since her last visit, and her old friends were doing well. Primula and Drogo were married!

It was a lively afternoon, especially when the brothers insisted on carrying her bags in for her, to find they had been filled with as many books and tomes as Ori could fit. This might have been a long vacation, but she had to keep studying. 

Though Fíli and Kíli wondered if it was really necessary for her to bring all seven volumes of “A Dwarven History of Middle Earth.”

Nori, ever protective of his favorite hobbit, checked her silverware to make sure it was still in place. Bilba insisted he actually get some sleep that night, rather than sneak into Lobelia’s smial and steal her candlesticks as a joke.

But Thorin and Nori talked into the night about Ered Luin and the other dwarves, long after Bilba had gone to bed and the youngsters had fallen asleep in a heap on the couch. Times were changing. But no one knew if it was for better or worse. 

“It goes in waves now,” Nori explained in a low voice to his king. “Dwalin will put away some embezzling trader or lying merchant and the rest will play it safe for a while. Crime goes down for a month or two and things get better. Then the bastards start getting cocky and greedy and people get abused until Dwalin can get something to stick. And even then they get out sooner or later.”

“They’re broken out?” 

“Bailed. Balin charges a steep price for criminals so that the city can have a little more in the bank, but the merchants have friends. Partners. You put one away, five take its place while another pays his freedom.”

Nori left late the next morning after long goodbyes and leaving Ori some of his knives. He made her promise to stab any lad that came too close. Or lass for that matter. Anyone really. No one messed with his little pebble. 

But he was off, and Bilba and Thorin were left in a house with three growing dwarves. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Ori was every hobbit’s new favorite dwarf. Much to the annoyance of Fíli and Kíli. But their irritation was only towards the hobbits, as Ori was probably their favorite dwarf too (except for Mr. Dwalin because he was the best dwarf ever). The girls loved her for the new braiding styles she taught them, and the lads were stunned by her strength (the first and foremost example happened about a week after she arrived, when a large goat twisted its ankle and she carried it like a wee baby). She was shy, but spoke well when she opened up, and could weave wondrous tales for the children. 

Ori was much farther behind in her Sindarin lessons than Fíli and Kíli, but they tutored her while Thorin was out. 

Still the best kept secret in the Shire. Other than the Line of Durin, of course. 

Ori was thrilled to be out of Ered Luin and the Shire in spring was a heavenly place. The mean girls had changed little, bragging about the boys who flirted with them while Ori was trying to just make enough coin to help pay for her apprenticeship. She wrote short stories and novelettes, drew portraits and pictures, and had saved up as much coin as possible for her trip. Who knew, maybe the hobbits would be interested in her writings? 

As it turned out, very much so. 

Ori had brought a few copies of her stories in hopes of selling them at the Market, and with Bilba’s help they were added to the book-shop’s shelves. They were mostly children’s stories, little adventures she had thought of as a child and written when she knew how. 

And then there were the stories that weren’t for children 

Ori hadn’t put out any of those in the Shire yet. 

She still blushed when she thought about how well they sold in Ered Luin. 

In fact it wasn’t until a month into her stay when she built up the courage to finish writing one of her… “romantic novels”. Thorin had taken (bodily dragged) Fíli and Kíli to the forge to work, and Bilba and Ori were sharing some quiet time around Bag End. Ori was on high-alert, listening for any creaking boards or footsteps that signaled Bilba coming for her. She had plenty of practice hiding her raunchy books inside her more innocent ones, or even shoving them under the covers and picking up another story she was working on. Dori didn’t exactly have light feet, so he was easier to avoid getting caught by than Nori. Luckily, Nori wasn’t always around, and the times he did visit he just showered her with candy and quills. 

So it wasn’t any fault of her own that led to Ori being caught with “explicit material”, merely the eternal talents of hobbits, to be quiet, light of their feet, and move without being noticed. In fact when Bilba opened the door Ori was so surprised she shrieked, throwing her book and quill into the air. The book fell to the floor with a thud at Bilba’s feet, and the hobbit, being the helpful woman she was, picked it up. 

Ori froze. 

“Oh Ori, what’s this you’re reading?” Bilba asked as she flipped through the pages. She hadn’t read any of Ori’s works yet and didn’t recognize the girl’s handwriting. “Is it a romance? Oh, I see— _“Halruk and Klaral kissed in the bright moonlight, under the stars and far from any who would judge them”_ —Is this a dwarvish romance?” Bilba asked, continuing as Ori watched in paralyzed horror. _“Their kissing grew more fervent and desperate, and soon Halruk’s hands began to drift. One held his love close as the other took hold of her bodice and—“_

Bilba’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ of surprise as her eyebrows slowly rose. 

“Um…Ori? Do you know what kind of book this is?” the hobbit asked awkwardly. 

Ori took a quick breath. She could work with this, just had to play it cool….

“A love story?” she pretended to guess innocently. Bilba’s lips folded inward as she squinted, looking pained. 

“Well, you’re not wrong, but…maybe I should just flip through your other books before you read them. Does Dori buy you books or do you get them yourself?” Bilba tried to fight the redness of her face as she flipped through the rest. 

“Oh I buy them, but wait—Don’t!” Ori exclaimed, too late. Bilba had flipped to a blank page. Blinking in confusion, she flipped back, finding the page Ori had just been working on. 

_“Klaral gasped in pleasure as Halruk clutched her_ —oh my— _and she took his mighty hammer and_ —wait, why do they have tools— _and his head fell back as he moaned and_ —Why does it stop mid-sentence?” Bilba asked in confusion. “Why would the author stop—“

And then it hit her. 

Bilba looked up from the book and stared at Ori. Then back at the book. Then at Ori. 

The women were silent for a moment, before Bilba quietly set the book down. 

“A love story?” Bilba asked pointedly. 

“Heh, yeah, so…” Ori started, wringing her wrists, but Bilba shook her head. 

“Don’t tell me, please. I don’t want to know how you learned about such things.” 

“The books in Ered Luin aren’t well labeled!” 

“I said I didn’t want to know!” Bilba laughed. “But really dear, you can do better.” 

Ori sighed, “Look, I know it’s dirty but the romantic ones sell the best! I was only going to put this one out to see if the hobbits liked it. If you think they won’t, then I’ll try something else but I just don’t know what hobbits like!” 

“What? No, darling, I didn’t mean it like that,” Bilba assured. “I mean you are a talented scribe who can write much better sex scenes than mere bodice-ripping.”

Ori stared. 

“What.” 

Bilba grinned, “Ori, love, you’re not the only writer in this smial, and I have a study chockfull of novels from adventures to mysteries to comedies. You think I’ve never come across a raunchy scene before?”

“Well I just—“

“Thought we hobbits were too prim and proper for that?” 

Ori shrugged. Bilba smiled warmly and sat down next to her on the fluffy bed. 

“People tend to assume a lot from appearances,” Bilba said admittedly, “But may I remind you that some hobbits have eight or nine children. We’re not the most innocent creatures, Miss Dwarf.”

Ori met Bilba’s eyes with a grateful look. The two beamed at each other for a moment, before Bilba spoke again. 

“Now show me what you’ve got, and we’ll see what we can do. I’ve got a few old stories you might like stashed away somewhere that have some good scenes.” 

“I was thinking my next one could be about a hobbit and a dwarf!” 

“Now there is an idea…but we’d have to figure out how they would meet, not to mention the size difference and the culture disparity, and we can’t forget about what that would mean in bed, and…” 

\---------------------------------------------------

Kíli was not a patient person. He wasn’t exactly impatient, but he liked to get things done quickly. Some things took time, and he understood that, but he didn’t see any reason for them to take any longer than absolutely necessary. 

Which is why he was so angry with his older brother when the cowardly lion wouldn’t take the first steps with their dear friend Ori. 

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship!” 

“I swear I will shoot you with an arrow if you use that excuse again, brother,” Kíli growled. They were staying up late one night in Fíli’s room (Ori’s being on the opposite side of Kíli’s) and Kíli was attempting to stage an intervention. 

“Why would she choose me over every other dwarf in Ered Luin? She could actually spend time with them! They could be there for her!” 

“Because they’re complete shale-heads, Fíli. And may I remind you, you are literally the Heir to the throne of Erebor!” 

“But I don’t want her to like me just because I’m a prince!” 

“She already likes you!” 

“But not like I want her to!” 

“You don’t know that!” 

The two whispered furiously at each other for some time. Ori had always been close to the boys and Kíli was sure she hadn’t lost any platonic love for them. It was just a matter if seeing they could shift it in a different direction. More specifically, Fíli’s. 

Fíli, however, thought that her long separation from them and her upbringing in a large city put him at a disadvantage. He was a prince who’d grown up on a farm. She was about to start an apprenticeship with a Master! What could he do? Swing a sword around? Ori could weave yarns into warm scarves or mesmerizing stories. She was adorable, with her freckles and knits and blushing cheeks. 

“I know something that will prove it one way or another,” Kíli finally declared. 

“What?” Fíli asked doubtfully. He slowly squinted in suspicion as Kíli’s grin grew wider. 

\-----------------------------------------------

The young trio often spent their afternoons outside in the warm Shire air. Ori drew the flowers and landscapes she could see from the hill while the boys trained and sparred. Today though, she thought she would draw the lads instead. Fíli and Kíli were swift flurries of swords, Fíli dual-wielding and Kíli using a two-handed sword. Their hair flew in the breeze and the clang of the metal rang through the air like bells. Ori had just finished her rendition of Kíli when the two took a breather. 

“Summer is certainly starting to kick in,” Kíli panted, sweating profusely. 

“It’s never been this hot in Ered Luin, that’s for sure,” Ori agreed. She wore a light tunic that was usually hidden under two or three layers of knitted sweaters, but now felt perfect in the summer sun. 

Fíli just chugged his water, unsure of what to say. Kíli glared at him, and appeared to have inherited the Cranky Durin Eye from his uncle, staring until Fíli repented. 

“You nearly ready, Fíli?” Kíli said leadingly. 

“Yeah, yeah, just one sec.” 

Taking a deep breath, Fíli put their plan into action. 

He pulled off his shirt.

Ori had been glancing between the boys and her sketchbook during the short conversation, but this time when she looked up she nearly fell off the bench. She blinked rapidly and nearly twitched in surprise. 

Fíli. 

Shirtless Fíli. 

Muscular, sweating, shirtless Fíli, gulping down water with sword in hand and his golden hair sticking lightly to his head and neck. 

Ori squeaked. 

And then she stubbornly went back to her drawings. 

Fíli sighed, disappointed, and went back to sparring. 

She hadn’t said anything! What had he done wrong? His shoulders slumped. He thought she was supposed to like his chest. But she was refusing to look at him! He decided Ori was just not interested. 

No, Ori was enthralled. 

But he couldn’t know that! 

If he caught her staring it would be so embarrassing, so Ori resolutely worked on her drawings, refusing to glance anywhere in the brothers’ direction. Why did puberty have to be so hard?

And why did Fíli have to be so—

So—

Now she was the one lost for words. 

But did it really matter? 

He was a prince. She was a pauper. 

Fíli was the lion-hearted heir to the throne of Erebor, destined from the day he was born. He was noble and courageous and smart. She was a mother’s daughter of a mother’s daughter, orphaned at birth and writing crappy stories for scraps. And despite all their differences, he was still kind to her, considerate and gentle and funny. Fíli had stunning blue eyes and hair like gold. He was training to be a warrior and had the muscles to prove it. He could forge and fight. 

All she could do was draw and write. 

Ori was too small to be one of the fierce beauties of Ered Luin and too curvy to be like the delicate gems. She was short and soft-skinned and freckled and had a too-soft middle and a bowl-cut that made her want to shatter every plate in the pantry. Her dirty-bronze hair was always knotted and her beads were mostly iron or wood. 

Fíli was a prince. Ori was no princess. 

At least she had her stories. 

\----------------------------------------------

“It didn’t work, Kíli, or maybe it did and now I know she doesn’t like me.” 

“Come on, what happened?” 

“I took my tunic off and she looked shocked, liked she’d seen a damn goblin. Didn’t you see how she was ignoring us?” 

“Then she does like you!” 

“What?” 

“Fíli, don’t you know anything? When a lass likes you, she can’t let you know she likes you, so she pretends you don’t exist. Or she tries to murder you, but that’s only in some cases, so—“

“Should I be fearing for my life here?”

“Hopefully.”

\------------------------------------------------

 _Daisy, a ~~clever~~ ~~brave~~ young hobbit from the Shire, was traveling with a few of her cousins across the land. They were looking for adventure, something more exciting than their pleasant homeland. What they found was ~~frightening~~ ~~amusing~~ unexpected._

_One of the few girls on the trip, Daisy was always cautious. She dressed like a male hobbit and never let her voice get too high. She cut her red hair short and tried to look gruff, even carrying a tiny sword._

_Unfortunately, the group of hobbits was accosted one night by bandits, Men looking for what valuables they could take. The ~~curly-haired~~ ~~hairy-footed~~ inexperienced adventurers had no chance, but suddenly, out of the woods, came a pack of dwarves!_

_The battle was short and frightening, much like dwarves themselves, but the hobbits were saved and the dwarves reigned victorious. The dwarves had heard the ruckus going on, and seeing innocents preyed upon had instigated them. But they were also suffering. They had been walking for days with little food and needed medicine after the fight._

_The hobbits had plenty of both._

_So Daisy and her cousins ~~healed~~ ~~aided~~ tended to the dwarves, and discovered more about them. Their leader was the ~~noble~~ ~~powerful~~ ~~majestic~~ gallant King Tormalin, a dwarf of honor and loyalty. He was amazed at the hobbits’ knowledge of usable herbs and berries, and asked if they would accompany his group to Ered Mithrin, his kingdom._

_The hobbits had been looking for adventure, and they finally found one._

_But it was a long journey, full of peril and danger. The dwarves became protective of the tiny hobbits, and the Shirefolk soon grew loyal to their ~~larger~~ ~~warrior~~ bearded friends. They still kept their genders a secret though, both for safety and out of habit._

_But it was when they crossed the Misty Mountains that things took a turn for the worse. They were ambushed by goblins, and Daisy was injured! They managed to escape, and after the hobbit healers were finished treating her, Tormalin demanded to see Daisy. Though she had gone under the fake name of Dandelion, Daisy and Tormalin had grown close. The hobbits tried to stop him, but he barged into her tent, and she was discovered._

_Daisy had been ~~concerned~~ ~~worried~~ ~~scared~~ horrified that Tormalin might feel betrayed, but when she began to apologize, he just looked at her in surprise._

_Apparently, they had thought all the hobbits were female._

“Now how do I make them kiss…” Ori wondered out-loud, tapping her quill against her cheek.

\------------------------------------------------------

Ori’s stories sold well. 

Very well. 

Children flocked to the shelves stacked with the newest tales and adventures, begging their parents for coin to buy one. Beloved by children of all ages, the books flew off the shelves and the seller had to keep ordering more. The…other, less-clothed stories were sought after as well, though much more quietly. 

The author’s true identity was a mystery, as the seller refused to give one, but all wondered who the grand writer was. 

Ori and Bilba shared secret smiles in the Market when they passed the bookshop full of clambering hobbits, and nearly choked on their laughter when Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli asked if they knew what was going on. 

Two months in the Shire and Ori had never felt happier. 

Three months in the Shire and Bag End woke to her scream. 

It was a blood-curdling screech and Bilba felt sick at the sound even as she flew down the hall. Thorin was right on her heels, sword in hand. Fíli and Kíli were just ahead of them, and the four rushed in after Fíli kicked the door open. 

Ori was screaming in terror in her bed, scrambling up towards the headboard frantically in the dim morning light. The others took in the scene in a second, spotting the gruesome bloodstain on the bed, but no enemy was to be found. 

“Come out, coward!” Fíli roared, moving closer like a snarling predator. Thorin and Kíli’s eyes were searching every corner, flicking about speedily but spotting no danger. 

Bilba panted, catching her breath. What had happened?

Ori’s cries slowly stopped despite the tears tracking her face. 

“What happened?” Fíli demanded, and Ori’s breath hitched at his tone. His anger immediately disappeared, morphed into concern, but it was Bilba who moved to Ori’s side and took her hand. 

“It’s all okay, dear. You’re safe,” the hobbit comforted. “Just tell us what happened.” 

Ori’s breathing was fast and one hand covered her racing heart. The brothers pointedly shifted their eyes away from that area. 

“I-I just woke up and felt like I was being stabbed,” she breathed, frightened and pained. “I was going to go the bathroom so I threw off the covers, and there was blood everywhere!” Voice cracking, the girl struggled to fight the sobs as realization hit Bilba. “I don’t know what’s happening to me! Am I going to die?!” 

“No!” Fíli yelled instinctively, taking Ori’s hands. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise, as a prince of Erebor, you will live!” 

Bilba sighed in tired exasperation. Oh boy. This was going to be fun to explain. 

“Fíli’s right, Ori,” Bilba agreed bemusedly. “You are going to be fine. But I need you three to get out.” 

“What?!” all three Durins shouted. 

“Ori and I need to talk,” Bilba said shortly. 

“Are you crazy? I’m not leaving her!” Kíli cried. 

“She needs our support, Bilba,” Thorin stated. 

“I will not leave her side until she’s overcome this sickness,” Fíli declared. Ori watched him for a moment, blinking in wonder at her loyal prince. But she didn’t want him to contract it!

“Ori’s not sick, Fíli. She’s becoming a woman.”

Bilba had not thought the dwarves could get so quiet. 

Fíli and Kíli stared at her like she had grown a tail, confused and wide-eyed. Thorin’s memory seemed to dawn on him, and his head rolled back in frustration. 

“I don’t understand,” Kíli said flatly, eyes flicking between Bilba and Ori. 

“Thorin, could you…” Bilba pleaded. 

“Yes. Boys,” he ordered, “Out. We need to give the ladies some privacy.” 

“What? Why? I want to know,” Kíli complained as Thorin shoved him out of the room. Fíli was much more resistant until Thorin reassured him. 

“Nothing is wrong with Ori,” Thorin promised. “I know this is scary, but I will explain everything to you. Now let’s go.” 

The men exited, leaving Bilba, Ori, and some stained sheets all alone. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t going to be one of those inspiring speeches about independence and responsibility,” Ori moaned. 

“No, this is the one full of pain and suffering,” Bilba empathized. “Though I think the boys will soon find a new level of respect for you.”

\----------------------------------------------------

“They _bleed?!_ ” 

“That is sick, uncle.” 

Thorin sighed. Like he needed to be reminded. 

“Yes.” 

“ _Every_ month?!” 

“How do they survive?” 

“Do they have too much blood?” 

“Does it ever stop?”

“How do you tell if they’re wounded or not?” 

“Ori said it hurt. Does it always hurt?” 

“Why does this happen?!”

The king’s shoulders slumped as he remembered his own father explaining this to him when Dis reached this point. Fíli and Kíli were actually taking it better than he had. Frerin had vomited when Thrain told him. 

“Yes. They bleed every month. It is a natural bodily function for women. It tends to end when they become too old to have children. But it also stops temporarily if they are with child. And if you cannot tell if it is a wound, Kíli, I suggest you simply offer bandages and walk away," Thorin explained, rubbing his forehead. 

The boys stared dumbstruck at their uncle. This was something out of a horror story. Surely this was a prank?

“And while it does not pain every woman, I know there are many who suffer pains during the time, though there are medicines among every race to treat such things.” 

“But why does it happen?” Kíli persisted. 

“I suppose it depends who you ask,” Thorin answered. “Some see it as a useful sign. When a woman’s bleeding is late or stops, she knows she is pregnant. A helpful aid, I would admit. However, many see it as a sign of the gods’ terrible senses of humor.” 

“They’re sick bastards then,” Fíli said with weak anger, looking green. Kíli blew air out his nose. They had known that adolescence was different for girls but…

“Wait!” Kíli nearly shouted, and then leaned in and whispered quietly, fearfully. “Bilba too?” 

Thorin nodded. 

Kíli vomited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Fíli and Kíli's "development" next chapter.  
> And we meet Lotho Sackville-Baggins!  
> Comments always welcome.


	26. The Dwarrowdam: The Desolation of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone.

“So Mother did that too?”

“Yes.”

“And Primula?”

“Yes.”

“That is the most disgusting thing—“

“You’re not the one going through it,” Bilba said dryly, stopping the lads in their tracks. It was the afternoon following the ‘Incident’ and the younger dwarves were still trying to wrap their heads around the whole idea. Bilba had thrown out the sheets, knowing them to be unsalvageable, and showed Ori all the useful tools for handling her newfound womanhood. Mainly painkillers and bandages. 

Fíli hadn’t said much for a while, stunned since morning, while Kíli wanted to know everything despite how much it continued to horrify him. Ori rarely left Bilba’s side. The brothers had been regarding Ori cautiously, not meeting her eyes but often staring at her when they thought the she wasn’t looking, like they might a frightening warrior or a dying soul. 

“Are we going to go through anything like that?” Kíli whispered urgently to his uncle. Thorin rolled his eyes. He had hoped the boys would drop the issue and pretend it never happened, but oh no, they had to be curious little buggers. 

“You still haven’t told them?” Bilba said suddenly, looking very worried. “Thorin, they need to know!” 

“Tell us what?” Fíli asked immediately, eyes widened in fear. 

“What’s going to happen to us?” Kíli whimpered, almost quivering in his boots. Bilba stared at them both pitifully. Distracted, neither of the boys noticed Thorin’s amused smirk. Ori was pretending to cover her mouth in surprised concern to hide her laughing smile. 

“You’re the dwarf. You tell them,” Bilba said simply, dragging Ori out of the room and leaving the boys to writhe in their own dread. Thorin sighed with a fond smile for his wife. Unfortunately, she did hand him two terrified dwarves and skip out, so he was stuck trying to explain puberty to his nephews. 

Not that they hadn’t yet hit it. Thorin had learned to knock in the most disturbing fashion possible, which he didn’t want to recollect or recount ever again. 

But the boys still had a few changes yet to appear, and obviously Bilba wanted her boys ready for them, as Dori and Nori had done such a terrible job preparing Ori for what was to come. 

“Fíli, Kíli, as you may have noticed, your bodies are going through some…transformations,” Thorin said awkwardly, biting his tongue as he remembered what his father had said to him at their age. “Your voices are going to get deeper and you’ll start growing more hair in places, like your beards.” Kíli’s sudden smile of relief knowing his little peach fuzz that was solely isolated to his chin would soon grow gave Thorin a little courage, and he carried on. “You’ll be growing quite quickly and find that your thoughts begin to drift to places…or people, that they haven’t before.” 

“What?” Kíli asked, confused. 

“I mean,” Thorin said, enduring the flush spreading across his face, “you may start feeling attracted to others, physically and mentally, and that carries its own set of symptoms.” 

“Symptoms? Wait, is that what Auntie Bilba was talking about when she—“

“Bilba was trying to scare you, Kíli. For Ori’s sake.” 

“Oh. Ah,” Kíli replied, biting his lip when he thought of how embarrassed he must have made Ori feel. Fíli’s brows knit together in silent nervousness for his friend. 

“Neither of you will have to endure anything like that. And I expect you both to be very respectful and supportive of Ori. She is away from her home and family and going through a very difficult time in her life, so you two should be there for her in she needs you. But don’t ask her any questions!” Thorin snapped pointedly. 

Kíli slumped in his chair, absorbing the information. He gulped. Fíli ran a hand through his golden hair, wondering what Ori must be thinking. 

“Uncle?” he asked. Thorin met his eye. “What sort of…transformations is Ori undergoing?” 

Thorin swallowed. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to think of a way to describe it.

“Well, as a dwarrowdam, Ori will be experiencing changes that are not severely different from you boys. I think.” Thorin shook his head and huffed. He was a king. He could do this. “Her voice may alter some, and her beard will grow as well. Along with the most recent development,” Thorin worded carefully, though the brothers still groaned, “her body shall…prepare itself to the possibility of bearing children.” 

Thorin smiled at his own cleverness. That was a good way to phrase it. Much better than how his father had described the process when Dis’s time came. 

“Preparing itself?” Fíli repeated, ending his silence and looking rather bug-eyed, “How is it supposed to do that? She doesn’t want children, not now! Doesn’t she need another dwarf for that?”

For Mahal’s sake. 

“No, Ori is not having children any time soon. What I mean is that when girls begin this time in their lives, their bodies begin changing,” and Thorin was starting to moan at his own choice of words, “to get ready for if they do have children. Look at the differences between Ori and Bilba.” Thorin jumped at the opportunity to stop talking, hoping that would be explanation enough, but both of the boys just cocked their heads. 

“Bilba is…taller?” 

“Bilba knows more about babies, certainly.” 

“No, it has to be physical, Kíli,” Fíli said, frowning. “Is it her hair?” 

“Something to do with the hair on her feet? No, wait, that’s just hobbits…” 

“No, no, no!” Thorin snapped, pulling at his own hair. He sighed, exasperated, and set his forehead down on the table. “Their chests,” he finally moaned. 

It took a moment, but soon enough Fíli and Kíli’s eyes went from curious and puzzled to freakishly wide and possibly scandalized. Their jaws dropped and Kíli twitched in his seat as Fíli wished he could go back twenty-four hours and run away from home. 

Thorin rolled his eyes. Again. 

“She’s becoming a woman,” he muttered. “What did you think happened?” 

Kíli just shut his mouth in a large, nauseated frown and wished to sink through the floor, feeling like his innocence had been physically ripped from his chest. Fíli sat with his head in his hands, wondering what god thought this was a good idea. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

“On the bright side, we can tell if they’re…interested, but there’s no obvious sign for men to see if we are attracted to them.” 

Back in Bilba’s room, the hobbit was having an equally hard time attempting to describe the male form of puberty to Ori. 

“What do you mean?”

“Ori. You wrote stories about this. What happens to a man when he—“

“Stop! I remember, I remember,” Ori gasped. Sure, she could write those things. Didn’t mean she wanted to see her main maternal figure describe them. 

“Yes. Well. You can imagine what they do when that happens and there is not a partner to relieve them,” Bilba said, rubbing her temples. She could still recall Thorin’s shout of horror when he walked into Fíli’s room without knocking. He’d given her and Kíli a heart attack, and poor Fíli couldn’t look anyone in the eye the rest of the day. 

But currently, Bilba was met with a blank look. 

“Um, Bilba?” Ori asked nervously. “No, I can’t.” 

“What? Ori, you know how they…” Bilba’s brow jumped at Ori’s shaking head. “Oh boy,” Bilba groaned. “Oh boy. Well, they, er…” 

“Should I ask Thorin?” 

“NO!” Bilba shouted, not wanting the mental picture to come to light. “No, Ori. Just give me a moment to think of how to say this.” 

To her credit, Ori only vomited a little when Bilba told her. 

\--------------------------------------------------

“I am going to murder Dori and Nori,” Thorin growled that night to Bilba. “Take their beards and everything.”

“How can you blame them? Nori is out of the city on jobs for months at a time and Dori just wants to protect his sister. His little sister, Thorin. It’s hardly a surprise he hasn’t thought about her growing up.” 

The dwarf shook his head. How did hobbits deal with such things? He felt awkward talking about it with his wife, and they were in bed!

Bilba was adorable, he always noted, wrapped up in blankets and furs next to him. They were only using a single cover now in the warm months, but even then her small figure looked like a sweet little bundle. Not looking up from the book she was reading, Bilba spoke again. 

“The only thing I’m surprised by is that she didn’t know that it was a sign of not being with child. You’d think when Dori explained how women get pregnant he would’ve mentioned that.” 

“Yes, he would’ve,” Thorin agreed, when a thought struck him. He and Bilba shared a look. 

“You must be joking,” Bilba moaned, throwing her head back onto the pillows. 

\--------------------------------------------------

The next morning after first breakfast, because no sane hobbit ever did anything before first breakfast, Bilba and Thorin sat Fíli, Kíli, and Ori down in the kitchen. 

“Can we not talk about this anymore?” Ori pleaded. 

“This isn’t about the…’Incident’, Ori,” Thorin clarified, clearing his throat. Bilba pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Do any of you know where babies come from?” she asked. 

Ori pursed her lips. Kíli grimaced and tried to melt into his chair. Fíli just put his head on the table in surrender to the inevitable. 

“I see,” Bilba said, almost physically pained by the sheer discomfort in the room. “Thorin?” 

“What? You want me to—“

“You’re the dwarf! They’ll understand you better!” 

“Fine! Fine,” Thorin grouched, clenching his fists. “When a couple wishes to have a child—“

“Can we not—“ Kíli begged. 

“This is important!” Thorin snapped. “Now, as I was saying, the man will take his pickaxe and enter the woman’s mine—“

“What?” Fíli, Kíli, Ori, and Bilba shouted in unison. 

“Thorin, what are you talking about?” Bilba asked. 

“It is an analogy! What do you want me to say?” 

“Something that doesn’t involve pickaxes in mines,” Fíli whimpered, looking sickly. 

“The man will plunge his sword—“

“Stop! Stop, Thorin, please stop,” Bilba pleaded, her face red. Thorin couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh or cry. 

Bilba took a deep breath. 

“Let’s just let them read the book.”

“You have a book?” Thorin sputtered. 

“How do you think hobbits have so many children, dear? Books and maps, my love, books and maps.”

\-------------------------------------------------

“So only a man and a woman can have a child?” 

“Well, there is adoption, and sometimes people will have surrogate mothers,” Bilba explained. “And not every couple is a man and a woman.” 

“Like Bofur and Nori,” Ori added. Bilba nodded. 

“That actually brings us to another good topic. Now, this book only gives us the technicalities, but we might as well talk about relationships while we’re at it,” Bilba said. 

The kids had been surprisingly responsive to the book, more open to asking questions and feeling less uncomfortable when it was all laid out from someone they wouldn’t get terrible mental pictures of. Thorin had scoffed at the idea at first, thinking that such knowledge should be passed down by the parents, which Bilba argued they were, through the book. 

“The important thing to know is that there are a lot of different types of people in the world who like different things,” Bilba began. “There are people who only attracted to those of the opposite gender or the same gender or both or anybody at all.” 

“What?!” Kíli gasped. “You mean there are people who…”

“Yes, Kíli?” Bilba prodded gently. 

“Love elves?” he whispered, like he was saying a dirty word. Thorin smiled proudly. 

“Yes, Kíli. There are even people who love elves,” Bilba sighed with fond exasperation. 

The Sindarin lessons were getting much more complex, to the point where Bilba was nearly running out of things to teach the kids. She had been looking for more books but they were difficult to find in the Shire, but hopefully Gandalf would have a few the next time he visited. 

Kíli stared in wonder at the thought. 

Not that he liked elves, of course. No, no, no. He was simply shocked anyone outside of the elf race could. Yes. That’s right. 

“Actually there are plenty of couples between the races,” Bilba added. “Thorin and I, for instance. And I know there are a few elf-Man couples out there.” 

(And Ori suddenly had the idea for her next story.) 

“But most of all, dears,” Bilba said very seriously, “never be afraid to be with the person you love. The world isn’t as welcoming as the Shire, but you can’t hide your true feelings because someone dislikes them. If you know there will be opposition, then it’s completely understandable to be careful and cautious. But don’t lie to others or yourself. You’ll only make your life more miserable.”

Fíli and Ori stubbornly kept their eyes on Bilba, not daring to risk a glance at each other. Kíli was still staring at the table in mild shock. 

“That might be enough for one day,” Thorin advised. Bilba, seeing the kids slowly losing their minds, agreed. 

“Let’s have second breakfast. Food makes everything better.”

\--------------------------------------------------

New to being a dwarf amongst hobbits, Ori was still shy about spending time with the others her age. The hobbits youngsters were welcoming, most of the time, but rumors spread like wildfires around the Shire, and Ori felt no need to attract more bullies. 

But Fíli and Kíli encouraged her enthusiastically. They got along with nearly everyone in the Shire, and Ori was a kind spirit. Who could dislike her? The brothers may have been a little freaked out by her newest bodily functions, but Ori was still Ori. 

They dragged her outside, one summer’s day, to a friend’s birthday party. One of the funny Bolgers, a hefty farming hobbit with a strong back and easy laugh. The brothers thought it would be the perfect setup for Ori to get back into the flow of things. 

She was shy at the beginning, but after the lad passed her a present (which she had not been expecting and had blushingly handed him a gift she had made, because these hobbits were odd creatures and gave things on their birthday and the brother had just happened to have forgotten that wee fact) Ori relaxed. The lasses were joking about the cutest lads in the Shire and welcomed Ori in with open arms, begging for details about the handsomest boys from Ered Luin. A few of the hobbits who hadn’t talked to her yet threw surprised glances at the small beard she was growing, but said nothing. 

The only dwarves they knew of all had beards, so it followed some logic that Ori would have one too. Who were they to judge? Not even the most masculine hobbit had more than thin sideburns. 

The partygoers played conkers and told jokes and ate the large cake like they were starved. It was a grand afternoon. 

And then Lotho Sackville-Baggins arrived. 

Now, the truce sanctioned between Bilba and Lobelia had functioned just as intended, and even ran on for a few pleasant years. But as soon as Lotho learned to talk it was a warzone. Fíli and Kíli were Bilba’s fine captains, and Lotho was their sworn enemy, whom they vowed to defeat if it took to their last breath, to destroy and rid from the Shire forever, to—

Well, perhaps not to that extent. 

Lotho was an unfriendly hobbit, following his mother’s large footsteps to the last detail. 

He saw Fíli and Kíli as uncultured fools, overly rambunctious and without control. The little scoundrel had even called them ‘barbarians’ once. 

The dwarf brothers thought he had a stick up his ass. 

He was handsome by hobbit standards, a living cherub straight out of a painting. But Lotho might as well have had a forked tongue. His charisma was impressive though, and even those who he insulted still came flocking back. It riled the brothers to no end. 

Lotho entered the party with his usual swagger, smiling and laughing and dropping compliments, watching as the others lapped it up. Charm was the lad’s greatest weapon.

Fíli and Kíli, hoping to have a good time and not get in a fight (a physical one anyway) ignored him. Their aunt, whom they loved dearly, had banned violence. Apparently, slyly disparaging Lotho was fine, but breaking his nose? No. Not good manners, she said. Make him cry other ways, she said. 

Ridiculous. 

But the dwarf brothers also had Ori to think about, and they doubted she would appreciate them beating up another hobbit at her first party. Kíli thought she might be impressed by their noble battle (because Lotho might as well be a wyrm and his defeat would surely reflect their honor and strength). Fíli disagreed. 

There were nights, back in Ered Luin, when Dwalin would come home with bloody knuckles. Both Fíli and Kíli would already be in bed but Fíli made sure to stay awake until all the adults were home safe. Dis would gasp and sigh in worry and frustration, and Dwalin would mumble apologies. He would tell her the story, a thief or drunkard, some fool using his muscles against those weaker them him. There was always some ‘good reason’, always a noble purpose, for him to come home late with a busted lip or blackened eye. Dis never listened. She didn’t care. Fíli’s mother patched up her lover and scolded him until one of them fell asleep in the other’s arms. 

It wasn’t about Ori being a lady that made Fíli not want to hurt people around her. Dis was just as much a warrior as Dwalin or Thorin. He could remember their sparring sessions. But Fíli knew unnecessary violence didn’t impress anyone. Not anyone he wanted to impress, anyway. 

The blond kept his eye on the twisted hobbit for a while. Ori didn’t notice, chatting up some of the girls about shoes (or the hobbit girls’ lack thereof). Kíli was juggling crockery as the partygoers took bets on how many he could toss at once. Fíli sipped his ale with a calm façade, trained to hide the way his muscles were tensing by none other than Thorin. Scanning the celebration, strategies formed in his head. Defensive positions (trustworthy hobbit friends), escape routes (three windows, the back and front doors, and the cellar), and the immediate threat (Lotho ‘The Liar” Sackville-Baggins). 

Fíli was just glancing at the food table for a second when he heard the dreaded voice. 

“And who’s this?” 

Fíli’s head whipped towards the sound and saw Lotho smiling at Ori with a look he knew was fake. The slimy bastard—if he said one hurtful thing to her—

“I’m Ori, Fíli and Kíli’s friend from the west,” Ori answered politely. “What’s your name?” 

“Lotho,” he replied smoothly, and Ori’s figure tensed for just a moment as she recognized the name. Odd, he didn’t appear to be the orc-spawned scum of the Shire as Fíli and Kíli had described. “I must admit, I haven’t met any other dwarves other than our three residents. They’d make you think you were all warriors! But you’re rather soft, aren’t you?” His voice was so sweet, sounding so surprised, the venom hidden behind sugar and honey.

Fíli’s jaw clenched instinctually. He could show that load of pyrite a warrior…

Ori eyebrows jumped for a second before she ducked her head and flushed, staring sternly back up at the hobbit. Her hands made fists in her skirt as her lips twisted to the side. 

“Dwarves are proficient in a number of crafts, many of them artistic and not calling for strength,” Ori contended, voice soft but steady and pronounced. “Though among your race, I’ve heard soft can be a compliment, so I’ll take it as such. And seeing as you have no warriors to speak of, I can’t imagine you would be foolish enough to critique ours.” 

If he had blinked he would have missed it, but Fíli was sure he saw Lotho’s charming and self-assured face crack. The tiniest hint of a sneer poisoning his pearly-white smile. But it was covered with a smirk in a flash, and Fíli wasn’t sure who he wanted to drag away from the scene. 

The other hobbits watched cautiously from the sides, Kíli among them. Ori was a sweet lass, but she wouldn’t be around forever. If someone spoke up they would be on Lotho’s weeding-list, and the last hobbit who ended up on that sheet was sent home in tears. 

“I suppose not,” Lotho agreed evenly. “There must be a lot we don’t know about you dwarves. Like how you don’t grow hair on your feet, but your face.” His tone was a hair from disgusted, but he carried the comment off with an air of nonchalance. A vocal cloak and dagger. “How do your women deal with the fur on their husbands’ faces?” 

“Dwarves take their beards very seriously, and dwarrowdams find well-groomed ones incredibly attractive, actually,” Ori explained happily. It was almost like teaching, like being Balin during a lesson for once. “Large and thick beards are especially sought after.”

A few hobbits blinked in surprise or tilted their heads at the thought. The thickest beard they had all ever seen was Thorin’s, and they knew he kept his trimmed. Hobbits couldn’t grow a lick of hair on their faces, so Thorin tended to stick out in a crowd. Fíli and Kíli’s emerging beards were also noticeable, for all that they would be considered nearly non-existent to other dwarves. 

“Well then you must get all the lasses with your fur,” Lotho sneered. A few hobbits gasped and Ori’s hand went to her side burns. Her beard had grown in the months she spent in the Shire, spreading from the sides of her face down to the beginning of her jawline. Fíli’s beard covered more of his face, but Ori’s was thicker and fluffier. The dwarrowdam stared at the taunting hobbit in shock, fingers resting in her hair. 

“I-I’m not interested in l-lasses,” Ori stuttered, cheeks red. “B-but—“

“That’s enough, Lotho,” Fíli commanded. He strode forward until he was almost toe-to-toe with the hobbit, and glowered down at him with icy blue eyes. 

“Coming to save your dwarf in distress? Are you the warrior that’s going to fight his battles for him?” 

“Him?” Fíli sputtered. He bared his teeth indignantly. “Ori is a girl, you twat.” 

Lotho’s sharp intake of breath almost sounded aghast. The hobbit’s eyes flicked to Ori and back disbelievingly. 

“A girl?!” Lotho spluttered. “But he’s got a bloody beard!” 

“All dwarves grow beards,” Ori said slowly, like the hobbit was slow. “But thank you.” 

“For what?!” Fíli and Lotho shouted in unison. Ori stood up, just a few feet away from them, and gazed at Lotho with a small smile, a hand combing through her side-burns. 

“No one ever told me I had real beard before,” she said tenderly. “It was very sweet of you.”

And in front of the royal brothers and a number of young hobbits, Ori kissed Lotho’s cheek. Both Fíli and Lotho’s eyes widened like dinner-plates as she scampered off with a few other girls, and Lotho looked ready to puke. 

Fíli, Kíli observed, had gone from ‘furious’ to ‘viciously homicidal’. 

\---------------------------------------------------

“I still can’t believe how much Ori’s grown,” Bilba sighed over her tea while the kids were at the party. “I never noticed how big Fíli and Kíli were getting, but now look at them.”

Thorin glanced over at her from his seat on the couch. His wife rested in her father’s arm-chair, thumb rubbing the edge of her cup. His letter to Dori hung half-written in his hand, waiting for a conclusion. Ori was delighted to be in Hobbiton and behaved wonderfully. She had kept up her writing practice and looked forward to studying under Balin. And, of course, Thorin had made sure none of the lads were getting too close. A cynical part of Thorin wanted Ori to like girls just so he could see the look on Dori’s face. 

“I remember when you could pick each of them up with one arm and carry them both on your shoulders. Now Fíli is taller than me,” Bilba added. 

Bilba gazed into her tea. The boys’ young years had been troubling, full of nightmares and violence and culture-shock. But they were almost adults now. Well-mannered, multi-lingual, athletic and funny. Only rarely was she reminded of the two soaking and frightened children who had eaten like they were starving and never left each other’s sides. They certainly hadn’t grown apart, but the brothers had branched out. Fíli was a responsible gentleman, with a strong back and loyal heart. Kíli was quick-witted and clever (though he didn’t always show it), and could hunt better than most of the rangers in the area. Dwarves though they were, hobbit culture was infused in them, and Bilba was proud to see them flourish as they approached adulthood. 

Thorin smiled to himself. Fíli was every inch the heir he should be, despite his more rural upbringing. He knew the power of the pen and sword and was proficient with both. Kíli was more free-willed, more hobbit-y in some aspects, but a prince nonetheless. The lad could get along with almost anyone, a talent most dwarves lacked. Should they ever have the chance, Thorin knew the brothers would make fine leaders. He hoped their mother knew that as well. 

“They’re definitely not little dwarflings anymore,” Thorin agreed. “But there is no reason to mourn, love. We still have plenty of time to embarrass them in front of their peers.” 

Bilba giggled at that. Fíli and Kíli had loved it when she braided flowers into their hair as small children, but had become increasingly uneasy at the thought after the earliest stages of puberty. Their discomfort only urged Bilba to try harder. 

“I know, I know. But think about it, Thorin. One day, they might move out, find someone special or a smial to call their own.” Bilba caught his eye with a worried expression. “Or do you think they’ll leave the Shire? Oh, what if they move far away? Thorin—why are you laughing?” 

The dwarf shook his head and said, “Fíli and Kíli wouldn’t leave you if you begged them. They would stand by you if death itself came to the door.” 

Fíli and Kíli. Loyal and dumb. Brave and reckless. 

Bilba’s expression softened, and Thorin rose to move toward her. He kneeled at her feet, taking her smooth, petite hands in his large, rough ones. His thumbs stroked the top side of her hands and felt the callouses on her palms. They were tiny and few in number, but her days in the garden left their marks. The tops of his hands were tempered with dark hair while the undersides were rugged from work and battle. A gentle-hobbit and a prince-turned-pauper. Gandalf certainly knew how to pick them. 

“I promise you, Bilba Baggins, that I will not let our family be separated by time. We have all lost too much to let something so simple pull us apart,” Thorin spoke deeply, in that kingly tone he only used when he was utterly serious. “You three are worth more to me than all the treasures of the world. I would fight the gods themselves if they tried to rip you from me.” 

Bilba could only bite her lip and try to fight the tears that gathered in her eyes. Thorin grinned and tilted his head forwards until she met him. They rested there, forehead to forehead, until Bilba felt a little romantic and dragged her dwarf to the bedroom. 

\-------------------------------------------------

The Mid-Summer’s Eve party was one of the largest in the Shire. All the clans came to Hobbiton to have a jovial time with friends and family. Children ran around playing games or listened to tales from patient adults. The tweens of the land mingled and flirted, dancing and laughing and doing their best to sneak an ale when they could. Gandalf had sent a package of fire-works in his absence, and Thorin was in charge of making sure they went off without a hitch. 

Kíli saw it as his role to steal and set off as many as he could. 

(No, he wasn’t trying to distract Thorin to give Fíli a chance of getting close to Ori. Shut your mouth, you little snitch.)

Bilba was off celebrating with her cousins, as a hobbit does on Mid-Summer’s Eve. 

And Fíli?

The blond heir to the Line of Durin was doing an alarmingly good impression of his uncle brooding. 

He watched from the edges as Ori laughed and danced, immersed in hobbit life. She and the other girls roamed in packs, giggling and whispering. Fíli ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. 

What had happened?

When had the world fallen out beneath his feet?

Why did Ori kiss that-that—

“Fíli!” Ori’s shouted, dashing towards him. Snapped out his trance, he watched her, bowl-cut bouncing with her leaps and the lantern-lights flickering in her auburn eyes. “What are you doing over here all alone?” she asked laughingly and out of breath. He swallowed hard. 

“Just taking a break,” he offered half-heartedly. Ori dryly cocked a brow. 

“From what?” she shot back. “I haven’t seen you dance one song all night. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” Fíli answered a hair too quickly. She folded her arms and huffed, giving him a pointed look. 

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I just don’t feel like partying.”

“That’s manure and you know I know you know it.” 

“It is not and—what?” 

“Enough,” Ori declared finally, planting her hands on the table. “You going to tell me what’s on your mind or I swear I will drag Bilba over here and she will get you to talk.” 

Fíli shivered at the thought, glaring at her.

“Fine, fine. Don’t need to be underhanded about it,” he complained. Ori folded her arms. Fíli huffed. “Look, I just thought you were having a good time and I didn’t want to get in the way.” 

“Get in the way?” Ori stared at him in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Fíli glanced away, hiding his ire. 

“You and the hobbits get along so well, and you obviously prefer Lotho to me so—“

Ori slapped her forehead, “Are you _serious?_ Are you really that thick-headed?” Her voice dripped with disbelief and frustration 

“Apparently I am, since I didn’t notice your love for that orc-spawn until you planted one on him!” Fíli spat. 

“Because I knew he would be disgusted by it!” Ori scowled at him in frustration, fists clenched. “I kissed that git because I knew that if he was truly so repulsed by me, there could be no better insult! And when I heard him vomiting in the bathroom, I thought that you would be impressed. But no, you’re far too petty and jealous of _nothing_ to see what’s standing right in front of you!” 

Fíli floundered at the end of her rant, mouth gaping as she stormed away. 

It hit him seconds too late.

Oh, was he a fool. 

“Ori! Wait, Ori!” Leaping from the bench, he dashed after her, but Ori spotted him over her shoulder. Her eyes were wet. 

She took off. 

To the hobbits, it most likely appeared to be a game of tag. The dwarves were faster than most of the hobbits, so they tended to win most games easily (except for eating contests, of course). 

Ori was fast but fumbling, trying to get away but having trouble dodging all the hobbits. As a warrior trained for battle, Fíli’s swift reflexes helped him maneuver around the party, jumping over faunts and sliding across tables. The hobbits thought it was a wonderful show. 

There was nowhere to run in the party area that wouldn’t slow her down enough for Fíli to catch her, so Ori started to head downhill towards, Fíli realized belatedly, the party tree. It was the landmark for Hobbiton, a tall oak with branches that formed a round shape from afar. Ori had a few sketches of it in her notebook. What she didn’t know was that the party tree acted as a lighthouse for young couples hoping to sneak away for a moment. 

“Ori, wait!” he yelled too late. She rushed down the hill to take a breath at the tree, and barreled into a pair of blushing hobbits. The lovebirds shrieked and scrambled towards the party, leaving Ori in a rumpled heap in the bushes. “Are you alright?” Fíli swept down the hillside and kneeled at her side. She pushed his hands away. 

“Get away from me, y-you _dunderheaded_ prince!” Ori cried. Dori had been right! Completely right! Why hadn’t she listened? The only men you could trust were your brothers, all the others were just looking for a prize…

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know what you were doing!” Fíli tried to explain. “I thought you mistook what he said and—“

“You think I’m that stupid?” Ori exclaimed. “Of course I knew he was trying to offend me! I hear it every day in Ered Luin! I learned how to take care of myself. The only thing special about Lotho is that he actually gave me a compliment!” 

“A compliment?!” Fíli spluttered indignantly. “That _d’hargel_ was insulting your beauty!”

“My beauty?!” Ori growled. “Like you care! When have you ever said anything sweet to me? When have you ever given me a reason to think you cared? But some hobbit says I have a real beard instead of just calling me a hairless runt like everyone else and suddenly you can’t handle it when I show interest elsewhere!”

His face fell as he realized she was right, so very right. What could he say? What was there to say?

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” Fíli apologized softly, offering her his hand. “I didn’t think you wanted a dwarf raised by hobbits…but then you kissed Lotho and I just…” Fíli took a deep breath as Ori let him help her up. He held her hand for a moment, staring at it, unable to meet her eyes. “I knew you could handle yourself against him but he kept insulting you and I just wanted to put my sword through him. You deserve better.” 

“It’s hardly the worst I’ve heard,” Ori muttered, but didn’t her hand away. He squeezed it at her words, wishing he could take her away from all that. What prince couldn’t defend his people?

“We’re young, and I’m stupid—“ Ori nodded heartedly. “But I can say honestly that while neither of us have true beards, you do have lovely…ah…”

“Mutton chops?” Ori supplied with a tiny smile. 

“Yes. And they are fluffy and red and look very soft,” Fíli continued, hoping he didn’t sound like a complete fool. “But there are far more things about you to admire than your looks, _zagarinh_.”

Ori blinked at him owlishly, a quiet intake of breath marking her doubtfulness. 

“Fíli, you don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he insisted desperately. “You are _ghelêkh_ and _m’aen_ and I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me when you’re near. Please, Ori, forgive my foolishness.” Fíli looked into her eyes, praying that she would pardon his actions. Ori bit her lip, shaking her head with a helpless grin.

“You dunderheaded _melhekhith_ ,” she breathed. Fíli beamed in relief, tension melting from his body. The both chuckled for a moment at the absurdity of it all. 

“So, Ori…,” Fíli coughed, a blush creeping in. “Maybe we could dance later?” 

She smirked at him thoughtfully. 

Grabbed his tunic. 

Pulled his lips to hers. 

And decided that puberty wasn’t all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> d’hargel: troll of all trolls  
> zagarinh: word-lady  
> ghelêkh: kind  
> m’aen: clever (Sindarin!)  
> melhekhith: young king
> 
> I am really, really sorry for the wait everyone. The next chapter should be out quicker.


	27. The Dwarrowdam: There and Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the apologies for my absence.

_‘Daisy and Tormalin’s wedding was a breath-taking sight,’_ Ori wrote. _‘The walls and pillars surrounding the altar were covered in jewels and vines, rubies and roses complimenting each other while mithril and white wisterias rippled across the ceiling. The mixed crowd of hobbits and dwarves beamed at the glowing couple and cheered when the vows were sworn.’_

Ori bit her lip. She did love a romantic moment, but she wanted to progress things a little faster. She could write a scene of the celebratory feast, full of humor and heart-warming glances, or she could move things along in the direction of the bedroom and the activities within. Such were the choices of a writer. 

But she also wanted to get this chapter finished in time to sell a few copies at the Market. Autumn had arrived and the air was cooling, so hobbits were beginning to spend more time in their smials. Business would plummet in the winter! However, that did mean more time to spend with her new favorite dwarf. 

Ori and Fíli’s burgeoning relationship was known only to her and the princes, though they wondered when and how to tell their guardians. The minute Dori and Nori found out, Fíli’s life would be at risk, and Ori secretly wondered if Thorin would ever approve of his heir courting a mere peasant. Fíli constantly reminded her that he was no more royal than she was; a dwarf raised among hobbits wasn’t the most court-mannered soul, no matter the pedigree, so they were as good as equal. But would the King Under the Mountain agree?

The young dwarrowdam couldn’t imagine Bilba opposing their courtship. The loving hobbit had always encouraged her boys and Ori to follow their hearts. She had married a king, so surely she would be happy for the new couple? 

If she was being honest with herself, Ori’s biggest fear wasn’t disapproving family members. She would be traveling back to Ered Luin in a few months, and who knew the next chance she and Fíli would have time to spend together? Apprenticeships took years, decades occasionally, and Balin didn’t have much time to roam, so neither would she. So many years apart…The romantic portion of Ori’s mind wanted to believe that distance made the heart grow fonder, that their separation would only make their bond stronger, but perhaps that was just false hope. How different would each of them be after all that time? And what if the hobbit lasses began to appeal to him? What if she met a kind dwarf during her work? 

Was this all for naught? If they did manage to keep themselves a secret, would it be worth it if their courtship only lasted a few more months?

Of course, that only mattered if Kíli somehow kept his loud mouth shut for longer than two minutes. An impossible thing to ask, really. 

Ori sighed and shook her head as she tucked away her excess supplies. There was no point in worrying. If something happened, it happened. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. 

Sketchbook and quill in hand, the dwarrowdam strode through Bag End to search for her beau when she heard the tell-tale sounds of axes striking through logs. In the backyard, Fíli and his uncle were chopping firewood for the winter ahead as Bilba tended to her garden. Kíli was either hunting in the forest or selling his catches in the Market. There was nothing too dangerous in the woods around the Shire, at least at this time of year. 

Was it the safety of the Shire that convinced Bilba and Thorin it was okay to let Kíli go out alone, or their way of parenting? When she returned to Ered Luin, Ori knew she’d be watched like a rare jewel by her assortment of adopted uncles. Privacy was a luxury she would not often be privy to. She and the older dwarrow would be watching over their shoulders for years. Ered Luin wasn’t exactly winning any ‘Village of the Year’ awards. 

But for now she could enjoy the flush on Fíli’s face crawling down his neck as he saw her approach, knowing that she was appreciating the sleeveless tunic he was wearing as he swung his axe downward. Ori was always delighted where he wore his hair up in a ponytail. Fíli set his axe down and wiped his forehead with the bottom of his tunic, smirking. His well-exercised abdominal muscles always made her blush. When he glanced at her, Ori was glaring back, cheeks beet-red.

Sometimes she debated who between them was more sheltered: her, the little girl from a small dwarf city with two overprotective older brothers and a plethora of ever-watchful uncles; or Fíli, an orphaned prince raised in one of the most untouched villages in Middle Earth. 

“Good morning, Ori!” Bilba called from her garden. “Are you two heading out for your walk?” The hobbit gazed over from where she was troweling on her knees, amongst carrots and beets, appearing very much like a large bunny with her large eyes and button nose. Her curls were tucked under a wide sunhat and her small hands were covered in soil. Sweat soaked through a few patches of her loose blouse. 

“Yes. I was hoping we could go by the river today so I could see some of the lily pads,” Ori answered pleasantly. Fíli and Ori walked the forests around the Shire almost daily so the scribe could find all sorts of plants and creatures to sketch, or at least that’s what they told their guardians. Fíli went with her to show her the special secrets of the woods: the unreachable nests and hidden burrows, the best climbing trees and the sweetest berries. Kíli would often start out with them, just to pop off on his own route in search of hares and deer. 

Fíli laid his axe down with the gardening tools and strode inside to change. Thorin remained swinging, the chop of his axe a constant and intense metronome. Since Ori had arrived, this was the closest she had ever witnessed him looking like a warrior. His corded muscles were still starkly curved and now glistening from work, and his face was a mix of stoicism and fury, like each log was an orc’s neck that he needed to sever. 

Bilba remained as hobbit-y as ever. 

“Are you ready?” Fíli asked as he strolled out of Bag End, hair down and fur jacket around him. He never ventured into the forest without his sword hanging from his side, and today was no different. Ori didn’t believe it was really necessary, but she could understand his caution. Though some days she thought he just brought it to try to impress her. 

“As ever,” she grinned. 

“If you find Kíli, send him home, will you?” Bilba asked. “Apparently one of the Bolger boys thinks he can out-shoot my little field mouse. The hobbit needs to be put in his place.”

“We’ll let him know,” Fíli responded quickly, heading off already. Ori sped after him, braids bouncing with her steps. They didn’t talk until they were out of earshot of Bag End and on the path towards the forest. 

The Shire, for all its spring beauty, was breath-taking in autumn. The trees had transformed into their auburn and crimson forms, and shone in the sunlight like rubies. The grass was still green, and the birds still sang, but the hobbits seemed to have a new skip in their step for the harvest. Farmers bustled along the paths with wheelbarrows, crops, and cattle. 

Ori and Fíli stood out amongst the passersby, taller and with a more muscular build than the round hobbits. Fíli’s long blond hair was the envy of many lasses, while Kíli’s easier personality led him to more company, not that he had much interest as of yet. 

Their stroll took them to the edge of the wood and a path barely distinguishable from the rest of the forest floor. 

“Where to today?” Ori asked genially. She grinned at her guide. He smiled softly back at her. 

“You’ll see.”

Ori rolled her eyes, but followed loyally as Fíli hiked in front of her. The forest was thick but not suffocating, and as the noise of Hobbiton faded out, the sounds of the woods filled their ears. Even the area around the Shire was peaceful. A porcupine trotted right across their path while a fox ambled around a burrow they passed. Ori stopped occasionally to get the outline of a creature or flower sketched before catching up to Fíli. He would always wait for her, but Ori didn’t want him to have to. 

She took a mental picture of a particularly chubby squirrel and jumped with a gasp when Fíli’s hand landed on her shoulder. His eyebrow leapt at her surprise, but she could tell he was trying to hide his mirth. Ori punched him. 

“Come on, we’re almost there.” 

They trekked swiftly from there, jumping over boulders and brooks. Fíli had to drag Ori away from a family of bunnies, but otherwise they traveled unimpeded. 

“Would you like to tell me where we are almost to?” 

“Here.”

Ori’s breath caught as her eyes pored over the scene before them. It was a small clearing; short, lush grass spotted with bright-colored flowers in assorted shapes covered the floor, surrounded by cherry trees and dogwoods. The sunlight gleamed through the leaves, not a cloud in the sky. Birdsong floated through the air as a rabbit hopped across the edge of the tiny field, a handful of bunnies bouncing after it. It was serene, heavenly, a place where worries and pains could easily be forgotten and replaced with simple felicity. The dwarrowdam thought her heart stopped. 

“Remember to breathe,” Fíli chimed softly. He could not help but admire her rapture at the sight. Ori could glow when she was overjoyed—her smile more dazzling than the sun, her eyes lighting up like fireworks—and he strived to see her so. Fíli had only witnessed her like this a handful of times; the first time she saw one of the Shire’s large butterflies, when she first tasted Bilba’s cooking, those rare moments of bliss when all of the shadows in the world faded way. 

“Fíli,” she rejoiced quietly, and he caught the wetness of her voice. Ori turned to him, eyes sparkling. They just stood for a moment, her beaming at him and him grinning back. The two could say more in a look than many could in an hour. It only took a moment, and Fíli easily took her hand to lead them into the opening. In the center, Ori noticed a patch of mushrooms, planted in a perfect circle. “Did you plant these?” Fíli shook his head. 

“It’s called a fairy-ring. When we were kids, Bilba told us that some of the hobbits, the Tooks, had fairy blood. We never really believed it, but then she brought us out here. The hobbits say you should never step in a fairy-ring, or the fairies will steal you away and you’ll never be seen again,” he explained, wiggling his fingers like he was telling a ghost story. 

Ori giggled, “Do you think Bilba has fairy blood?” 

“They certainly have a way with growing things,” Fíli answered, shrugging. “Who knows? But I thought you might like to see it so…” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, nervousness beginning to creep in. Sure, they had been alone together unsupervised before, but suddenly it felt like there were more butterflies in his stomach than all of the Shire. 

“It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, Fíli,” Ori responded honestly. “Thank you.”

The dwarf blinked owlishly for a moment as his cheeks faded to red. His grin turned sheepish and he nodded rapidly. 

“Yeah, I haven’t been here in a while and it was really nice as a kid,” Fíli rambled, “but I wanted to wait until autumn because the mushrooms match the leaves and Bilba thought it might help with your stories so—“

“My stories?” Ori gasped. Her blood ran cold. How did he—when did he—Dear Mahal _no!_ “When did she tell you about my stories?” 

“Just a few days ago, I think?” Fíli stammered. “I mean, she didn’t really tell me much, just that they were fairy-tales? She said you had been looking for some inspiration so I wanted to see if I could help.”

Ori’s shoulders dropped from their tense positions. Oh Mahal bless that hobbit! She caught her breath and started laughing, hands clutching her belly. This place, this moment, this dwarf in front of her, it was all just too perfect. 

“Come here, you bumbling bee,” she grinned, and pulled him in for a kiss. 

_Thwack!_

Ori shrieked and suddenly Fíli tackled her to the ground, covering her with his own body to protect her. Both of their heads snapped to the side to discover an arrow sticking out of the side of a bleeding stag. 

“Holy Father of dwarrows!” she gasped, shaking. Fíli’s eyes searched the woods in front of them, dead silent and still as a stone. His brows furrowed for a moment, before he glanced back towards the arrow and recognized its tail design. 

“KÍLI!” he roared, rising to his knees and helping her up. “GET OVER HERE!” 

The forest seemed to go quiet for a moment, until she heard something like soft mutterings that sounded suspiciously like curses. Snapping branches and crunching leaves heralded the younger brother’s arrival, and Kíli marched into the clearing. He was trying to look stubborn, but there was a hint of bashfulness on his reddening cheeks. At least he felt a little guilt about nearly killing her. 

The glower on Fíli’s face was as frightening as it was rare. Ori had noticed over the months in the Shire that he had learned to not put so much pressure on himself for every little thing. He was quieter than his brother, more stoic, but he seemed happier than he had as a child. Unfortunately, it made his darker moments all the more intimidating. 

“You could have killed one of us! Did you not see the two dwarves standing in front of you?!” Fíli yelled. 

Kíli cowed, slowly shrugging his shoulders up with an apologetic smile. 

“Apparently?” he offered. Fíli’s eye twitched. 

Ori sighed, shaking her head. 

“It’s fine, Fíli,” she said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “No one got hurt. And that is quite a large stag he just caught. I’m sure he’ll be more careful from now on.” She gave Kíli and pointed look and he nodded emphatically to his brother. Fíli glared for a moment more, but his gaze eventually softened and he glanced back to Kíli’s kill. 

“You’re going to need help carrying that, aren’t you?” 

“I could use a hand,” Kíli mumbled awkwardly. Fíli took a deep breath to calm down and glanced at Ori. 

“Would you like to stay here and draw while Kíli and I head back?” he asked. 

“I think I’ll just go back with you two,” she sighed. “My heart is a little too jumpy for sketching now.”

Fíli nodded and strode to the stag to see how heavy it actually was. Kíli moved to Ori’s side and whispered into her ear. 

“I interrupted something, didn’t I?” he asked nervously. She smirked. 

“What was your first clue?” 

“Not sure; the fact that Fíli is never that mad even when I bruise him in sparring, or that neither of you noticed a bloody deer five feet from you, which do you think?” 

This time it was Ori’s turn to blush. 

“Just go help him with your damn stag,” she grunted, sticking her elbow in his side. Kíli just laughed. The brother strapped the deer’s hooves to a fallen branch and shared it on their shoulders, Kíli laughing silently behind his brother. The walk back to Bag End was much less tense, though Ori thought Fíli must have hit his knee when he tackled her because he seemed to be walking awkwardly. Poor bee. 

The secret couple and their one confidant strolled through the woods and Fíli informed his brother of the Bolger boy’s challenge, to which Kíli rolled his eyes. The Rangers said he was almost as good as an elf. He knew he would be better than one too. One day. Thought that would necessitate him actually meeting an elf. 

“Thank goodness you’re a good shot, Kíli, because otherwise my brothers would probably stick your bow where the sun doesn’t shine,” Ori teased. 

“If my brother didn’t do it first!” Kíli joked. Fíli shot him with a vengeful look. “Oh, what are you going to say, brother? Are you going to tell Thorin and Bilba how you two managed to miss a deer this big? Or shall I inform them?”

Fíli refused to take the bait, resolutely staring ahead. 

By the time the trio arrived home, Bilba and Thorin were preparing lunch. The King Under the Hill spotted them from the window and strode out to meet them, grinning as he eyed the buck. 

“Quite the catch,” he said proudly, arms crossed with a fond smirk. Kíli beamed at the attention. “Give it here and go wash up. Your aunt claimed she was about to starve.” Fíli and Kíli heaved the deer off their shoulders and Thorin hefted it easily over his own and headed towards Bag End’s cellar. 

“When did he start showing off?” Kíli muttered. 

“When your aunt started watching from the window,” Ori replied dryly. Both the brother went bug-eyed for a moment before Kíli began making gagging noises. 

“You can keep that sort of observation to yourself, thanks,” Fíli mumbled. 

“C’mon, you yellow-bellies, I’m starving,” the dwarrowdam ordered, dragging them inside towards the wonderful smells wafting out the open window. 

Thorin and the other dwarves didn’t eat as many meals as their hobbit, but they did eat more in each sitting. Gravy-drizzled meats and steamed vegetables fresh from the garden decked the table, and Kíli almost shoved his brother to the floor to get to the biscuits. He threw off his bow and quiver next to his plate and began digging in. 

“Kíli! No weapons in the smial!” Bilba barked from the stove. “Take it outside! You too, Fíli.”

“But Beeelllbaaa!” Kíli moaned pathetically, mouth full of food. “You let Ori keep her slingshot inside!” 

“Because a slingshot is not sharp or heavy and Ori does not carry sharp or heavy things to load it, now out!” The hobbit shooed the lads outside as Ori sat down at the table, giggling at their expense. 

“Don’t you have a sword, Bilba?” Ori asked, loading her plate quietly. Bilba sighed as she wiped her hands on her apron. 

“I do, locked away where neither of those two will ever find it. And hopefully I’ll never have to take it out. Elvish make, so Thorin’s happy to hide it as well.” 

Speaking of, the displaced dwarf king and his heirs entered the smial once more, unarmed and bee-lining for the table. Thorin and Bilba shared a short kiss as they passed, while the boys bounced into their seats and started eating like animals. 

Ori sat at the end of the table, watching the four flow around each other in utter and complete normalcy. They passed dishes to each other, knowing who would eat what, and dodging the others’ limbs. Thorin, bulkier and hairier than any of the others, had his arm resting gently around Bilba’s waist while she leaned against him. Fíli and Kíli sat across from each other, passing food and inhaling it without missing a beat. 

It was a surprise within a surprise, Ori decided. A hobbit living in a home full of dwarves, whom lived in a town full of hobbits. And yet they all meshed together effortlessly like mithril chains. 

Ori was not ashamed of her family, not at all. She loved her brothers more than anything else in the world. She had never had a noble father to protect her or a caring mother to hold her close, but Dori had everything he could to help her succeed and Nori had never forgotten her birthday. They watched over her and taught her well, and she was proud to be their sister. But they fought. 

Dori had never been happy about Nori being a thief, and definitely didn’t approve when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Nori relished his illegal career, and probably enjoyed spiting Dori. Her eldest brother wanted to stay by her side every moment of the day, and the younger was gone for weeks or months at a time. She adored them, but… 

Ori shook her head. The gems were always shinier in the other mine, right? Dori and Nori loved her. Their relationship may have been rough, but those two would stick by each other to whatever end. They would figure something out. Maybe she could find something for them to agree on. Something they liked, something they disliked…

Fíli glanced over and met her eyes, a friendly grin on his face. Unbeknownst to him, there was a little green leaf stuck in his teeth, and his usually handsome look was marred to the point that Ori had to choke back a chuckle. 

A moment later, her stomach sunk. 

If Dori and Nori found out, she wouldn’t have to worry about her brothers fighting anymore. They would be too busy trying to get Fíli’s head on a spike. 

\----------------------------------------------------

As time passed, and Ori’s remaining months in the Shire began to dwindle, the young dwarves spent as much time together as they could. The trio had races through the woods and shopped at the markets, went to birthday parties and harvest festivals. Kíli made sure to let the couple have their space, but he was never too far behind, and always on the lookout to distract Bilba and Thorin should the adults wander too close. 

The younger prince was kept even busier as winter arrived. Hunting became a necessity rather than a hobby. Kíli was determined to give the hobbits as many furs to keep them warm and as much meat to eat as they needed. He gave most of his catches away for free and the hobbits were exceedingly grateful. Bilba beamed with pride at her nephew, even when he tracked snow through the house and trod it into the carpet. 

The winter wasn’t as harsh as past years, cold as ever but with less snow and ice. Bilba still took the opportunity to cuddle up with her furnace of a husband. 

Ori was barely phased by it all. Growing up with winters in the mountains was toughening, at least for those who survived. The Shire seemed as delightful as ever. 

Until they received a rather unexpected guest. 

_Knock-knock-knock._

“Whoever could that be?” Bilba wondered aloud, rising from the dinner table. What hobbit would be out in the cold and not eating? As she headed towards the door, the dwarves all shared a look of panic. Unexpected guests were often better left outside, and as Ori remembered in terrible detail, the last time she was here Bilba’s guests were not the gentle kind. 

Thorin rose from the table silently, moving swiftly to the drawer where they kept the larger kitchen knives. He pulled a particularly long meat cleaver out with a bitter look and then headed down the hall to where Bilba had gone. The younger dwarves sat frozen, barely daring to breathe as they listened for any signs of danger. 

The door creaked open and a cold gust of wind swept through the home. 

“Nori?” 

“Oh pyrite,” Ori gasped. 

“Nori!” they heard Thorin greet his old friend. “How are you surviving?”

“I’ve certainly been worse.” Ori knew her brother’s sly voice anywhere. Nori’s voice seemed to have its own smile, like he knew something you didn’t and was too proud to convincingly hide the fact. Dwalin almost disliked him more for his pride than his crimes. 

Ori and Fíli shared a nervous glance as the adults exchanged pleasantries. 

“I thought he wasn’t coming for another two months, Ori!” 

“I didn’t know! Why would he come now?” 

“There’s my little pebble!” Nori exclaimed as he swaggered into the dining room with the others. The corners of his grin pulled up his moustache like the peaks of his hair and Ori prayed he wouldn’t noticed how much the three of them were sweating. “How have you been faring among Yavanna’s bairns?”

“Just fine, Nori,” she answered quickly, getting up to hug him. Nori smelled like pipe-weed and leather, as he usually did. “They really know how to cook.”

“That they do,” he chuckled. Nori turned back to Bilba. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything too important.”

“Not at all, Nori. We always have room for more,” she sighed fondly. A dozen more, to be exact. A respectable Baggins was a prepared Baggins. 

Fíli and Kíli fastened on their best “we-didn’t-do-anything” puppy eyes and welcomed Nori with extra enthusiasm. 

“Nori! Want an ale? How long have you been traveling?” Fíli asked cheerfully. 

“Aye! Got any new stories for us? What brought you back?” Kíli asked, innocent as ever. 

“I’ll take that ale, lad,” Nori agreed immediately. Fíli, Kíli, and Ori remained tense, sitting back down and hoping her brother didn’t suspect anything. Bilba and Thorin watched him curiously, oblivious. “Actually, I’ve been traveling since I dropped my wee sis here. Rohan is lovely in the summer. I know you weren’t expecting me for a bit, so I am sorry to fall through your door like this, but there are some whispers on the wind I thought you might want to hear.” Nori’s eyes glinted scornfully as the other five pairs of eyes widened. 

Thorin took a deep breath. 

“Good news, or bad?” he questioned softly, just holding back a growl. He knew Nori wouldn’t come all the way back if it wasn’t crucial information, and good news tended to be able to wait. 

“Not the best,” Nori answered, resigned. He leaned back in the chair and took a big swig of ale. Thorin cocked a brow irritably. Nori followed his own set of rules, king or no. 

“And?” Bilba prodded gently. Beneath the table, she slipped her hand in Thorin’s. 

“There’s a rumor that some dwarves have been living in the Shire,” Nori admitted. “No one knows the names, and some think it’s just a joke, but a few are curious. Everyone’s looking for work.”

“But what’s wrong with that?” Kíli cut in. “If they’re just trying to make a living…”

“It’s a problem when they find out who is living here and spreads the word,” Thorin grunted, glaring at the table. 

“And that’s if they’re the friendly type,” Nori added. “Some dwarves aren’t afraid to push others out if they want all the coin for themselves. And if they aren’t fond of the Line of Durin, then we have a much bigger problem.”

Thorin groaned and rested his forehead in his hand. Kíli appeared to shrink in his chair. Ori tried to meet Fíli’s eyes, but he was staring at Bilba with his jaw clenched. After years of living amongst some very dangerous dwarves, Ori had learned to read people pretty well. There was something vengeful, ferocious, in Fíli’s eyes. Something that was much more reminiscent of a lion than a fluffy little bumble bee. 

Bilba herself looked like she couldn’t breathe. 

“What are we going to do?” Ori murmured to her brother. He cocked a brow. 

“We? Pebble, you’re staying put. I was thinking Thorin and I would go into Bree and turn over a few rocks, see what we find. The four of you are going to hunker down.” 

“What are you talking about? We’re coming with you,” Kíli smirked. 

“We’re not little dwarflings anymore. We can help,” Fíli agreed vehemently. 

“This is not up for discussion,” Thorin suddenly declared. “You will stay here. You may not be children but you are not yet adults and I will not risk the lives of my kin when they cannot even drink.”

“Uncle!” Fíli snapped. “We have been training for years. You’ve taught us well! I will not hide in the basement like a child and just wait for morning to come! This is our responsibility too.” Thorin settled on Fíli with a hard look. 

“Don’t be a fool. This is not some battle from a tale, Fíli. This is our family,” Thorin rumbled darkly. “One day, when you are king, you will understand.” 

Fíli stared at him, jaw clenching and looking like he might crack at any moment. Ori and Nori’s eyes flicked between them observantly. Years in treacherous neighborhoods had taught them to tell when arguments would turn violent just by the look in one’s eye or the twitch of a muscle. 

But Fíli stormed out of the room before a fist could be thrown. 

Kíli jumped to his feet, gaping at his brother’s exit before turning on his uncle beseechingly. The lad swallowed hard. 

“You’ve got to stop thinking of us as helpless dwarflings at some point, Uncle.” And then he was off after his brother. The only sound in the dining room was Thorin’s deep sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned over the table, holding himself up with one arm. Bilba remained unusually quiet. 

“This place feels more like home than I thought,” Nori murmured, “’Cept I’m not the one being yelled at.” Ori elbowed her brother. 

“Should I go talk to them?” Ori asked gently. Thorin rolled his shoulders and stood up straighter, shaking his head. 

“No, there is nothing to be said that will make them feel any better about this. Just watch the doors. Nori, we should leave soon. Gather whatever supplies you think we may need. I’ll get my things.” 

Over the year she had resided in the Shire, Ori had noticed how little Thorin actually mentioned his own weapons, at least by name. He had a sword; she had seen it once while she and Bilba had been talking in their bedroom. His epithetical oaken-shield had to be somewhere close. Perhaps it was Bilba’s rule against arms in the smial, or just the hobbits’ dislike for war in general, but it had always been odd to Ori. Fíli and Kíli never got complaints from any hobbit except their aunt.

Maybe there were some benefits to growing up in a place rather than immigrating to it. 

Nori went ahead and gathered the knives he had set away upon entering as Thorin disappeared into the halls of Bag End. Their hobbit had yet to say a word, or even make eye-contact with Ori. 

“Bilba?” Ori asked, barely above a whisper. She scooted closer in her chair, trying to imagine what was happening in the hobbit’s head. “Y-you don’t have to tell me what is wrong if you don’t want to, but…you know I’m here, right?” 

It was a long minute before she answered. 

“I thought the worst was behind us.” 

Bilba was barely audible, but Ori picked up the wetness in her voice. She was practically choking. 

“I thought we were past this,” she wept. “Being afraid of knocks on the door and the shadows in the night. You three, you’re practically grown! I let Thorin teach the boys how to fight because I thought it was a part of their heritage, but I hoped they would never have a reason to use it. And now they bloody _want_ to. I thought that if I raised them to act like gentlehobbits and grow up to be respectable then their past would just leave them alone. We could get on with our lives, but no. Warriors have come back and they are going to—to—“ 

Bilba couldn’t finish. The tears finally started flowing and it was all the hobbit could do to not sob out loud. Ori quickly fetched her a hankerchief, but not even her clever mind could think of something to say. 

Thorin reappeared from the halls, face bitter and hardened. The dwarf was no longer wearing his loose hobbit-style shirt, but his armor and long leather coat. A sword hung at his hip and his boots clunked against the wood. Bilba wiped away her tears as fast as she could, but Thorin spotted the redness around her eyes from the hall. He barely had to glance at Ori for the girl to give them some privacy. The exiled king sat down heavily next to his wife. 

“There is nothing I can say that will change your mind, is there?” she asked softly. 

“What else would you have me do?” Thorin replied lowly. “If Nori believes them a threat, they must pose a great danger for him to risk coming here. They could hurt the other hobbits or reveal us. If you have an alternative, do tell.” 

Bilba sighed, shaking her head. Thorin regarded her remorsefully, catching a glimpse of the dainty ear clasp he had forged for her so long ago. She had welcomed them with open arms, into her home and heart, and had suffered grievously in return. Bilba deserved everything; jewels, gold, power, he would give her the world if he could. But she would never take it. As much as she appreciated a little adventure, she still preferred the simple ways of the hobbits. All Thorin had done was make things more complicated. 

“I’ll come back. I give you my word I shall return to you.” 

Bilba finally looked him in the eye, lips tight and her gaze a mix of sorrow and scorn. To leave her like this made him feel like his heart was cracking. 

“If you’re not back by morning I’ll use your shield for kindling,” Bilba replied weakly. The edges of Thorin’s mouth perked up. 

“Then I shall make haste.”

A short walk away in the sitting room, the two Ri siblings were exchanging words of their own. 

“How dangerous are they?” the lass asked dejectedly. Almost everyone Nori knew or conspired with was threatening in one way or another, but some were more worrying than others. 

“Nothing Dwalin and the others don’t deal with on a daily basis, pebble. I just wanted to have someone to keep an eye on the extra muscle,” Nori said comfortingly. “We’ll be back before dawn. Don’t you worry.” Ori fixed him with a flat look. 

“You know I’ve always been able to tell when you’re lying, right?” 

Nori’s smile fell a bit, before quirking back up half-heartedly with a shrug. 

“I’m just glad you never taught Dori that trick.” 

After the not completely successful attempts of reassurance, the king and the thief met at the door, ready to head out. The walk to Bree was about an hour, if Thorin remembered correctly, and it was already dark. He suspected it would be a very long night. 

He did not expect to find his nephews outside waiting for them, fully dressed and armed. 

“Get back inside, both of you,” Thorin nearly growled, not mincing words. 

“How are we ever supposed to be able to defend ourselves if we never experience the real thing?” Fíli snapped back. “How can we ever call ourselves warriors if we have never even had a real fight? What is the point of all our training if not this? Uncle—“

“Enough!” Thorin roared, wondering for a split second if he had woken the neighbors, but deciding he didn’t care. He stormed towards his nephews, and while a part of him was proud that neither cowed in his presence, his loathing of their actions overpowered it. “I did not teach you to fight so you could rush headlong into battle without thinking. I did not put a sword in your hand and show you how to swing it so you could take petty revenge and call it self-defense. I trained you so you could not only protect yourselves but also those cannot!” 

Fíli and Kíli’s eyes were as round as Bilba’s plates by the end of his rant, and Thorin glowered at them as his reasoning dawned upon their minds. 

“You…you taught us to protect Bilba,” Kíli said dazedly. The brothers gazed up at their uncle, stunned and staggered. 

“One night years ago, I left the three of you alone, utterly defenseless in the wake of the monsters that came to our door. Bilba barely survived. And had she died, would you two have lasted much longer, losing the two women who mothered and tended to you?” Thorin’s expression morphed, from ferocious to woeful, and his deep voice was thick with sorrow. “I know I would not have lasted long, knowing I could have saved them both. I could not let such an atrocity occur ever again. Do you understand now?” 

Fíli lowered his head, prideful anger replaced with shame. Kíli couldn’t meet his uncle’s eyes. 

“Yes, uncle,” they agreed in unison. 

Thorin studied them both, the brave boys he and Bilba had raised, and shook his head. 

“My lads,” he whispered, and after one stride forward he pulled them both into a tight embrace. Fíli and Kíli were startled at first, but quickly relaxed into his arms. “Don’t ever doubt that I am proud of you. But tonight, you are needed here. Should anyone find their way here, do not be afraid. You are excellent warriors. You will both be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Thorin pulled back slowly, giving the brothers each a clap on the shoulder. 

“Then you should be going,” Fíli replied. His smile was tinged with guilt, but true enough. 

“No, no, why don’t you all hug some more. Maybe the bandits will die of age before we get there,” Nori interceded smartly. "You sure you don’t want to write a letter to Dwalin and Balin and tell them how much they mean to you? I’m sure I could deliver it and be back before you set out.” 

The three Durins glared at him, unimpressed. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

A few hours after Thorin and Nori had left, Bilba, Fíli, and Kíli were still up. Ori had gone to bed earlier and fallen asleep quite easily. Nori’s comings and goings to and from dangerous places was far from new. Thorin’s absence, however, was much more unusual. 

The fire crackled in the hearth as the small family held an informal vigil around it. Bilba appeared to be reading a book, though Fíli was sure she hadn’t turned a page in over ten minutes. Kíli sat on the floor, back against the couch, whittling pieces for new arrows. Fíli remained sedentary, twiddling his thumbs as the clocked ticked on, muscles tensing at every sound like a frightened pup. It was painful enough to know there was nothing he could do at the moment, but the worst part was feeling like there was nothing to do. 

“Auntie Bilba, do you want to go lay down? Me and Kíli and stay up until they get back.”

She didn’t react for a moment, and Fíli thought she hadn’t heard him until she spoke. 

“Did you know I still remember the first time Kíli pronounced my name correctly?” 

Fíli and Kíli’s brows jumped. They shared a look, both confused and curious, before Bilba caught their attention again. 

“I remember when you two went out to play one afternoon and Fíli scraped his knee and Kíli thought he was going to bleed out. The night Kíli had a dream about mountains of cake and cried when he found out it wasn’t true. And when Fíli was finally potty-trained…” 

Kíli burst out laughing as Fíli flushed beet-red. 

“Auntie Bilba!” Fíli whined, face in his hands as she started giggling as well. 

“Oh stop your bawling. You two ran through the streets of Hobbiton stark naked! I deserve some retribution for all the explaining I had to do that day! And Yavanna forbid I forget the day you two peed in Lobelia’s garden!” 

Kíli seemed to be dying on the floor, body shaking uncontrollably with spasms of laughter so much it hurt. There were tears in Fíli’s eyes as he clutched at his gut. 

“There was the time you two decided to become hermits and live in the forest. I’ll never forget the sight of two tiny dwarflings with little knapsacks full of biscuits trying to steal my walking stick. Thorin was about to bash his head against a wall, you two were so set on it.”

“I remember that!” Kíli exclaimed. “We were going to find the Ents and become Tree Herders.”

“We thought we would be able to ride trees around like ponies,” Fíli breathed between chuckles. 

“You were so small,” Bilba said wistfully. “Not even up to my hips. I thought you would never grow up.” 

“Well we don’t have beards yet,” Kíli responded wryly. 

“Speak for yourself,” Fíli smirked, brushing his fingers through his golden sideburns. 

“Keep telling yourself that, brother.” 

Bilba sighed warmly, “Would you boys promise me something?” 

“Of course,” they answered immediately. 

“Never grow up.” 

Both brothers nodded without hesitation, beaming at their aunt. For her, they would do anything. 

“Just go to sleep for Mahal’s sake!” Ori shouted from her room. “It’s not a bloody battle!” 

The three of them snapped their hands over their mouth as they realized the one thing they did forget was their sleeping guest. 

\------------------------------------------------------

The Prancing Pony was Bree’s most popular tavern, full of hobbits and Big Folk, travelers and residents, and this night it held an unusually high number of dwarves. 

Of course, ‘unusually high’ simply meant more than one. 

Thorin’s hood and cloak hid his gleaming armor that would have attracted attention, and Nori’s traveling clothes fit right in amongst many of the patrons, but the newly arrived dwarves stuck out like diamonds in a coal mine. 

There were beads made of jade and gold strewn throughout their flaming red hair and their stark black tattoos made their faces appear practically orcish. Gleaming axes and spears surrounded their table while empty tankards covered it. The four newcomers sat apart in a corner booth with drunken, though watchful, eyes. 

“Firebeards,” Thorin snarled under his breath. 

“What did you expect? If it was a bunch of Broadbeams I could have bought them a round and they would have been on their merry way,” Nori replied dryly. “Let’s get a table. We should at least try to not look like we here to kill somebody.” Thorin huffed, but followed the thief’s lead. It had been some years since the displaced king had been in a serious fight, even a bar brawl, and Nori knew the situation better than he did. But even after they sat down, Thorin could not help but glance occasionally at the intruders. He didn’t have to make eye contact with them to know they were watching him, but he ended up doing so anyway. 

One reached for his axe. 

“Nori,” Thorin breathed, hand slowly shifting to the pommel of his sword. 

“I know, I know, keep your beard on…” Nori said quickly, pointedly not looking at the other table, despite the fact that two of the Firebeards were beginning to rise. 

“There are too many people in here,” Thorin growled. “We will not be able to—“

Out of nowhere, a tall man wrapped in grey robes sat down at their table. Thorin blinked up at him, just noticing out of the corner of his eye that the dwarves were sitting back down.

“Mind if I join you?” The old man grinned at the dwarves as he removed his long, pointed hat.

“Just who are you then?” Nori snapped, sounding remarkably like an offended Dori. 

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said genially. “My name is Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey.” 

“Ha. You mean to tell me that—“

“Nori,” Thorin silenced. The thief furrowed his brow in confusion before glancing back at the wizard. His eyes flicked between Thorin and Gandalf for a moment, before gracefully standing up from the table. 

“You know what? I’m going to get a drink. A big one. You find me whenever you’re done with this…business.” Nori side-eyed Gandalf untrustingly, and promptly disappeared into the crowd, probably snagging a few wallets along the way. 

“Did I say something to offend him?” Gandalf asked innocently. 

“He is not fond of surprises, wizard. Neither am I, for that matter.” Thorin scowled while Gandalf sat down across from him. “Why are you here?” 

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Gandalf answered. “A little far from Hobbiton, isn’t it? And this late at night. I can’t imagine Bilba approving.” 

“Neither can I,” Thorin snorted, “but Nori caught word that some dwarves might be scouting the area, so we came to…intervene.” 

“Naturally.” Gandalf’s smile quirked up. “Well, you shouldn’t have to worry about them. I just heard some of the Rangers outside discussing some recent thefts in town. The victims say the thieves were both rather short but well-armed. Can’t imagine they will cause you any trouble after tonight.” 

“That does not answer my question, Gandalf.”

The old wizard sighed, “No, it does not. This is no chance meeting, Thorin Oakenshield. I hoped to speak with you in private, but this will have to do.” 

Gandalf leaned in close and Thorin followed suit, suspicious but curious. 

“It is time for you to take back the Lonely Mountain.” 

\----------------------------------------------------------

Thorin and Nori arrived home earlier than expected, but still long after the others had gone to bed. The trip home had given them a chance to discuss what needed to be done. Preparation under their furtive circumstances would take years, and dozens of risks would have to be taken. They agreed to not tell Bilba or the children, and write of it only in code. Gandalf would be aiding them, but much had to be done within Ered Luin, where Thorin could not stray. 

If Bilba and the brothers were interested in why Thorin was distracted for the next few days, they were far too distracted themselves by the fact that Nori had decided to stay for the winter. Bilba had offered him the guest bedroom and since winter was a terrible time to travel, Nori naturally said yes. 

For no other reason or motive other than convenience, obviously. 

Bilba welcomed the new conversation partner, especially one so well-versed in the far-away lands she had read about, and Fíli, Kíli, and Ori were quite busy panicking about how to keep a relationship secret from the master of secrets. 

The season passed by, full of low-volume conversations in the middle of the night, almost-caught kisses, and hilarious anecdotes passed over dinner. The Durins were an odd bunch and hobbits were even weirder, Nori and Ori both agreed, but they were as tightly knit as a masterly-made scarf, and were just as welcoming. 

But when spring came, the Ri siblings were forced to leave. 

Ori had her apprenticeship with Balin to prepare for, and Nori was going to be busy for months rounding up the trustworthy dwarves and coming up with a plan. 

Bilba hugged Ori tightly and gave Nori a large bag of food to keep them full, and Thorin made sure the thief didn’t make off with any of their silverware (“Really, Thorin. I thought we were better than that,” his arse). 

Kíli gave them the warmest furs he had caught for winters in the mountains, and Fíli slipped a few ink jars into Ori’s bags. The younger prince was kind enough to keep Nori distracted with questions as the love birds said their goodbyes. They didn’t really know where to start.

“It’s too dangerous to write, isn’t it?” Ori asked despondently.

“They would want to read the letters before we sent them anyhow,” Fíli nodded. 

“So what do we do?” 

Fíli said quietly, “I’ll wait if you will.” 

Ori smirked warmly, “I thought that was already decided.” 

“Yes-yes, of course it was, I just meant—“ 

“I’ll see you when I see you.” 

Fíli sighed with relief and nodded. 

“I’ll see you when I see you.” 

Ori winked at him with a clever grin that made his heart speed up, and mounted the cart Nori had rented. Fíli was heading back to the others when Nori caught his arm. He gulped. 

“Hey there, lad. Your uncle says you’re not half bad with a pair of swords.” 

“I’m quite good, actually,” Fíli responded, swallowing his fear. 

“Then you should try these,” Nori said, bringing out a pair of knives virtually out of thin air. Fíli hadn’t even realized he was armed. “They don’t have the reach your blades do, but they’ll cut through anything, and a little easier to conceal. You should start a collection.” 

Fíli cocked a brow at the weapons, searching for a trap. 

“I don’t know if my uncle would want me carrying knives inside my clothes,” he replied innocently. 

“And I know he wouldn’t want you dying because you got unarmed.” 

Not feeling like he had a choice in the matter, Fíli took the knives and shoved them in his pockets. 

“Good, good. They’re pretty easy to learn, just think of them as tiny swords. The more the better.” 

“I…thanks, Nori. I’ll try to learn well.” 

“I’m sure you will, lad. Can’t have my sister’s favorite ending up dead, can I?” Nori said with an eerily familiar wink and grin. Dread pooled in Fíli’s stomach. 

Nori just laughed. 

“You hang in there, prince. Might just make a worthy brother-in-law yet. If you don’t give me a reason to skin you before then, o’course.” 

Fíli couldn't tell if he was kidding or not.

Fíli, son of Dis and heir to the Throne of Erebor, most certainly did not wet his pants. 

\-------------------------------------------------

It was on the way home that Ori thought of the perfect ending to her newest story. 

_‘Daisy and Tormalin lived happily ever after, to the end of their days.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only the end of the beginning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Driven Out and Taken In Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/837018) by [Shivi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivi/pseuds/Shivi)




End file.
